Stop
by Turtle2
Summary: Sequel to Funny How: Jack goes directly after Tru. COMPLETE!
1. Karate Lessons

STOP

Another Tru Calling story by me, Turtle

Disclaimer: Try as I might, I still don't own any of the regular characters (Tru, Davis, Harrison, the autopsy table, etc.). I only own the incredulous cameos.

AN: So. We meet again, Catwoman. I wasn't going to do a sequel to "Funny How", but since the series didn't return in November as TV Guide implied it would, I've had to tide myself over with my imagination instead. I hope y'all find it a worthwhile distraction. BTW – Does anyone know if Davis has a last name? Or is he like Roseanne?

Saturday 9:16 am

The snow fell thick and silent in the forest glade, settling beautifully on the bare branches of the trees. There was no breeze, no animals, no sound except for Tru's running feet and panting breath. Her lungs burned on the frigid air.

She had to find the way out. Find the way home. But she couldn't; every way she turned, it looked the same. There was no beginning and no end, only the snow and the maze of trees. So cold. So alone. So lost.

Help me! Somebody find me!

Suddenly, just when she was about to fall to her knees in the snow and cry, Tru skidded to a halt. There, in the distance and coming closer... It was a woman. Specifically, it was the most elegant woman Tru had ever seen. She wore a fur-lined set of long, white satin robes. Silver ribbons were braided into her wavy brown hair. She walked with the posture of a queen, so lightly that her feet left no tracks on the forest floor.

She fixed Tru with the gentlest of smiles, warm enough to melt the winter snow.

"Mom..." Tru whispered.

Tru's mother extended a hand toward her.

"Stop, Tru."

Tru ran to meet her mother. Her mother continued to glide forward, but the snow fell thicker. It fell as thick as a stage curtain, swallowing the image of the graceful queen. Tru ran faster, reaching.

"No! Mom, you can't leave me here alone! Not again!"

"Tru... stop."

Tru ran. She reached. She lunged...

... And woke up.

Tru was bolt upright in bed, her breath coming as fast as her heartbeat and her arm still reaching out as the dream faded from her mind. She quickly withdrew the shaking hand and ran it through her long brown hair.

"Good to see you again, Mom," she said aloud. "Next time, bring a jell-o mold."

She rolled out of bed and headed quickly for her bathroom sink, where she splashed her face with frigid water and let the drops hang on her chin and nose. The dreams were always similar. Sometimes Tru was locked in a castle tower and her mother was a knight errant who never quite got around to rescuing her. Sometimes she was a gladiator surrounded by lions and her mother was the emperor who ALMOST intervened. Once, she'd even been a deputy in an old West desert who'd chased a bunch of banditos into a collapsing mine shaft and her mother was the lamp-toting sheriff who could've led her to the safety outside, but didn't. She just didn't.

And every time, every single time, Tru's mother said the same exact thing and nothing more.

It wasn't until she finally got her breathing under control that she realized her leg was hurting. That could only mean one thing. She crossed to the window, pulled back the curtain, and sure enough, it was snowing. This was getting to be almost as strange as her ability to relive days in order to save the recently dead. Her bullet wound had actually healed remarkably well, according to her physical therapist. All that remained of it was a neat scar in the back of her thigh and an ability to predict the weather. The only time it cramped up now was when something fell out of the sky.

It seemed to be something else that was having trouble healing. It was when she'd been shot and nearly killed three months earlier that the dreams had started to come harder than ever. In any case, this was by no means the first time it had happened and Tru was getting rather frustrated with her inability to recognize another stupid dream when she had one.

The ringing phone brought her gratefully back to the present. She hurried to the kitchen to answer.

"Hello?"

"Greetings from Emperor Harrison of the Underworld. My minions shall soon march across the lands, bringing darkness and famine to all in their path, so I'm on the line today reminding everyone to keep current on their insurance payments."

"What is it this time, Harrison? Get evicted again? Car repossessed? Sleep with another man's wife which led to you getting your teeth broken and now you need money for the dentist?"

An exaggerated gasp came over the line.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten today is the first day of kick-ass class! You promised you'd take me along and if you don't pick me up soon, we're going to be late."

"No, I haven't forgotten. Have YOU forgotten that it's not until two?"

"No it's not. It's at ten."

"Two."

"Ten."

"Two. Your job interview at the Saturn dealership is at ten."

"...Oh. Oh, yeah! That's right."

"Harrison," Tru said suspiciously. "You're not blowing this off again, are you?"

"No way! The next time you see me, I'll be among the ranks of America's respectable work force. Just wait."

"Good. I'll see you this afternoon, then."

"All right... Say, Tru?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure you want to do this? With your leg and all?"

Tru sighed. She'd almost thought they might make it through the conversation without him turning into the dithering little brother he'd been for the past three months, much like Lindsay. And Dad. And worst of all, Davis.

"For the sixth time Harrison, yes."

"Okay, okay, just checking. And for the record, it was only the third time."

"Harrison, do you really want to get into this with me?"

Another pause.

"No."

Damn straight.

Saturday 2:16 pm

Harrison looked down his training partner in dismay. Tru had started classes here at the Shotokan studio last month, sparking his unease at the prospect of his 110-pound sister being able to beat him up. The feeling built until he finally asked her to bring him along to the beginner's class. She'd agreed, but had pointedly failed to mention that he would be the only adult.

Standing in the middle of the hardwood floor in the white pajamas and faced with a six-year-old while the intermediate adults (many of them very decent-looking young women) practiced nearby, he'd never felt more ridiculous in his life.

"Well?" the kid demanded. "I can't practice blocking if you don't punch at me."

"Um... Actually, I'm kind of punched out. How about if you punch me instead?"

"But I already –"

"Okay, you're right, you're right." Harrison leaned down to eye level with the kid and whispered. "How about... Ooh! How about we break some of those boards over there? You wanna break some boards?"

"But those are for the advanced class."

"Nobody's got to know, do they?"

"But Sensei said –"

"No offense kid, but Sensei's a blind old fart who... He's behind me, isn't he?"

The kid nodded. Harrison slowly straightened up and turned to Haioshi Sensei, who stood at his shoulder with a tiny amused smile. Haioshi was a trifle more than middle-aged and half a head shorter than Harrison, but his frayed black belt looked like it had survived every war ever fought and there was something in his twinkling eyes that made Harrison swallow hard.

"Is there a problem, Harrison San?"

"No! No, no, no... Well, yes."

"Shall I explain the exercise again?"

"It's not that. It's just... Could I have a different partner?"

Haioshi quirked an eyebrow. "Has Henry San damaged you?"

"Oh no, he's great. It's just that..." Harrison turned on his charming smile and indicated the adult class with a cock of his head. "Girls are watching, you know?"

Haioshi's smile widened a bit. "I see. Henry, go and join in with Pete. Sally, would you be so kind?"

Haioshi took his leave, to be replaced with Sally: A striking brown-belted blonde.

"Well," Harrison said, looking her up and down with a hyena-like grin. "Kung-POW."

Sally bowed and took a fighting stance.

"Go on and hit me," she said.

"I can't hit you. You're a girl."

Sally's shock at this statement lasted the barest moment before she released a loud battle cry, dropped to a lunge, and threw a punch that was like a striking cobra. Harrison heard the impact to his nether-regions before he felt it. But when he felt it, good God, did he feel it.

Harrison dropped to lie moaning at Sally's feet.

"That one's a downward block, silly," Sally said.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, a unified cry rang out as the twenty-ot students struck out their fists. Over and over they repeated the technique, their shoulders starting to burn as the instructor walked slowly up and down their ranks, stopping here and there to correct a stance or guard. Sweat trickled down Tru's face and neck. Her legs shook with the strain of holding the low stance. She grit her teeth, yelled louder, punched the air harder, and it felt wonderful.

She loved it here. There was no nagging, no worrying, no shop-talk. There was only the honesty of the ancient techniques, and the surety that no one would hurt her charges while she was around.

"Good," Haioshi said. "Now, with advances."

Haioshi counted off the first repetition. With the rest of the class, Tru stepped left and punched right. Strong, grounded, and powerful, just as it should be. Haioshi counted again. Tru stepped right, and the leg collapsed.

White-faced with the violent throb in her thigh, Tru stayed down, sucking hissing breaths through her teeth until her anger overcame her pain. She drove herself to her feet and with a primal roar, threw the technique again, harder than ever.

SMACK!!!

Tru blinked. Her arm only halfway extended, her fist was engulfed in Haioshi's intercepting palm.

"Sensei..."

As the rest of the class went on pretending not to notice, Haioshi stood before her as calm as ever, the brightness of his eyes dulled by muted concern.

"Tru San, do not be angry with your body for telling you what it needs."

Tru had no idea how to respond. Haioshi spared her having to.

"Come. I have just the thing."

Some minutes later, Tru was seated on a cushion in Haioshi's office, sipping a steaming mug of ginseng tea. Haioshi's office was spare like the rest of the studio. There was only a traditional tea service, the low table and cushions, a cabinet, and an altar. Haioshi returned from the cabinet with a small tin of tiger balm and knelt before Tru.

"May I?"

Tru nodded. Haioshi pushed up her gi pant leg and began to deftly work the ointment into Tru's leg. The fumes stung her eyes a little, but she could feel the tension slipping away under Haioshi's hands.

"I'm sorry, Sensei."

"Don't feel bad. You were doing well."

"But you told us on the first day of the beginner's class to let you know if we had a health concern."

Haioshi only continued to smile and apply the tiger balm. Tru tried to relax. From the first time she'd seen Haioshi Sensei, she'd liked him. There was a quiet grace to the little Japanese man that her life was sorely lacking. But they had never really talked. Now that they were alone together, she was feeling a little self-conscious.

"I was shot, Sensei."

"Drink your tea."

Tru sipped obediently. "Three months ago, five men tried to kill me because I saved a woman's life. The police caught all of them, except one. He's the reason I came to you."

"Now flex."

Tru tightened her hamstring. "The thing is, I'm not really afraid. I'm just frustrated. I know that I can take care of myself, but no one else seems to think so. I can hardly go out to get the mail without my friends child-proofing the front walk."

Haioshi's hands paused and he regarded her levelly.

"Is that why you didn't tell me?"

Tru considered that. "I think it's why I'm telling you now."

Haioshi's tiny smile returned and he resumed his ministrations.

"No one sees better than I that you can take care of yourself. Tru San, from the moment you stepped through my door, I knew that you would be an interesting student."

"Interesting?"

"Interesting. As I said, I truly believe you can take care of yourself. However, I fear that perhaps you are so concerned with the problems of others that you forget to look after yourself."

"I have plenty of people doing that for me."

"Why do you think that is?"

Again, Tru considered. Then, she sighed in defeat. "Because I'm so concerned with the problems of others that I forget to look after myself."

Haioshi's eyes twinkled as though they'd just shared an inside joke. "I know that we do not know each other well, but if you will permit me, here's what I think: You spend much time chasing things – deadlines, people, answers – and yet you have forgotten to look for what you seek in the most important place."

"But I –"

Haioshi held up a hand to cut her off.

"Close your eyes. Straighten your back. Breathe."

Tru obeyed, as she did in the meditations that began and ended every class. In and out. Rhythmic and uncomplicated. She tried to think of nothing but her breath. A thousand different thoughts tried to invade. She pushed them away. All that remained was the space she cleared in her mind...

Tru...

No. It was just a memory. One of her dreams. Push it away.

TRU...

It's not real. It was a stupid dream. Push it away. Concentrate. Breathe.

TRU, STOP.

"I can't stop, Mom!"

Tru's eyes snapped open, having startled herself out of her meditation by uttering that last metaphysical exchange out loud. Haioshi was watching her from his own cushion with one eyebrow quirked.

"Something chases you," he said.

"Yes," Tru said shakily. "Something."

Tru was about to ask if this sort of thing typically happened in meditation when she realized that the pager she had clipped to her sports bra for work emergencies was vibrating.

"TRU – HOPE YOU'VE BEEN WATCHING THE NEWS. OTHERWISE, YOU'RE IN FOR A RUDE SURPRISE AT THE FIRST STREET BANK," said the text message.

Tru sighed. "I have to go, Sensei. Thanks for the tea."

"Ah. Until next week, then."

They stood and bowed to each other. Tru turned to go.

"Tru San."

"Yes, Sensei?"

"Don't forget where to look."

Saturday 3:00 pm

Jack Harper hated winter, especially when he had business outdoors. Safely hidden behind the corner of the old brick building that housed the Shotokan dojo, he stomped his feet impatiently, trying to keep feeling in them despite their presence in the deepening snow. Months of preparation had led up to this and he still hadn't been able to control the weather.

Finally, he heard the front door bang shut and peered around the corner to see Tru Davies emerge, walk briskly to her car, and drive off toward First Street. So she was driving a silver Volkswagen now. She could do better, Jack mused: She'd look so much better in a black Caddy.

Pity.

He marked the time, and began to feel a bit warmer.

TBC...

And by the way: Are there any things in particular that y'all would like to see included between now and the mildly thrilling conclusion? I'll try my best to include them.


	2. The Eye of the Storm

AN: Tru angst and Davis, eh? I think I can oblige.

Saturday 3:12 pm

Delayed only a few minutes by changing back into street clothes and assuring Harrison that he would still be able to father children, Tru headed for the First Street bank. Rather, she tried to. Some six blocks away, she began to hit so many police barricades that she found it more practical to walk the rest of the way.

It was then, when she stepped out of her parked car, that she noticed the thick black plume of smoke that was swirling into the sky from a point suspiciously near her destination. Many, many bad signs.

She walked briskly down the snowy sidewalks, always with her ID ready to brandish to whichever beat cop wanted to tell her she couldn't go on. The closer she got, the more news vans and cop cars she passed, and the more field reporters hustled past her with their camera men and their spike heels making ridiculous clicks on the concrete. By the time she made it to the last corner, Tru felt like a lemming headed for the cliff.

When she rounded the corner, the scene before her hit her like an acme brand piano. The bank building, or rather what was left of it, was a smoking ruin. Three fire trucks surrounded the foundation, their hoses shooting misty water into the flaming rubble. Police tried to keep gawkers at bay around the perimeter. Ambulances crowded the parking lot, paramedics swarming in and out of them. Two by two, they carried bleeding people away: A dazed fellow with a torn scalp, a young woman with half an arm missing who was crying out about her son, a body so burned she couldn't tell the age or sex. Dozens of bodies with black triage tags had been left about the tarmac in the rush. Tru knelt by one of them, fighting her rising gorge. It was an old lady with a long purple coat and half her skull missing. Kids. Old people. Bloodied, burned, broken...

"My God..." Tru breathed, holding her sleeve over her nose to block the stench of smoke and sulfur.

"Davies?"

Tru looked up at the prompt and found a familiar face in the chaos.

"Kiff?"

Kathleen Frink lurched away from the rubble of the building where she had been digging for survivors when she had happened to spy Tru in the lot. She came to a stop before Tru and stood there panting. Scratches marred her sooty face, which was bathed in sweat despite the chill in the air. Her medic uniform was covered in tears and blood.

"Kiff, what the hell happened??"

"The... The bank... A-All these people..."

"Kiff, calm down. You're all right. You need to tell me what happened, okay?"

Kiff took a deep breath.

"There... There was a hold-up at the bank. It was on the news all day. Three guys went in and started waving guns around with about forty hostages inside. They didn't say anything about a bomb!"

"A bomb? Who robs a bank with a bomb?"

"You'd have to ask them, but they were killed in the explosion. So were m-most of..."

Kiff looked like she was about to vomit.

Tru grabbed Kiff by the arm, pulled her over to the curb, and made her sit with her head between her knees. Kiff's fingers knotted into her short brown hair as if she were trying to claw the horrible images from her brain.

"Tru, tell me you can stop this. Please tell me you can stop this!"

That was when it began. A mangled hand from the body closest to Tru latched onto her ankle and the dead eyes snapped open.

"HELP ME."

Then the old woman.

"SAVE ME."

Then the next one and the next.

"HELP US."

"PLEASE SAVE ME."

"HELP ME PLEASE."

One by one they piped up until it was a chorus of cryptic whispers all around her, like a jackhammer in her head, broken only by Kiff's sobbing and finally, mercifully, the burst of light as the day rewound.

Saturday 9:16 am

Davis was startled out of the best dream of his life by the shrill scream of his bedside phone. Still with his shaggy head under the covers, he groped until he found the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Davis, it's me."

"Tru? What time is it?"

"It's after nine. Are you still asleep?"

Of course I'm still asleep. I worked the night shift. You know that because you were there. And by the way, I'm probably never going to dream about an hour on the holodeck with Seven of Nine again. Even in my wildest fantasies, I'm sure she'd reject me.

But naturally, he didn't say that.

"No! No, been up for hours. I was just finishing my t'ai chi exercises. What's up? Do you need a ride to PT? Help with PT?"

Tru's exasperated noise was audible over the line.

"Davis, I finished PT weeks ago."

"Oh, right. What can I do for you, then? Can I get you breakfast somewhere? Pick up your dry cleaning?"

Carry you up the stairs? Tuck you in bed and read you Dickens? Sit by you and watch you sleep by the light of the moon?

But of course, he didn't say that either.

"Stop dithering, Davis, and listen to me. Something terrible is about to happen."

Davis pulled the blanket off his head and sat up.

"What kind of terrible?"

Tru quickly filled him in on the rough draft of Saturday.

"Oh..." Davis said when she was finished. "THAT kind of terrible."

"I'm going to the police station as soon as I hang up."

"I'll come with you!"

"No, I need you to get down to the bank and start staking it out."

Davis frowned. "You mean you want me to sit in my car across the street and watch people go in and out all day?"

"Not across the street. If anything goes wrong, I want you out of the path of the blast."

"But what if Jack tries to intercept you on the way to the station?"

"Then you'll find out about it and go to the cops yourself."

"But what if he hires some girl pretend she's you and call me to say everything's okay?"

"For God's sakes, Davis. Have I ever once given you an everything's-okay-call?"

"But what if –"

"What if I slip on a banana peel and fall down a storm drain? I'll find a way out, just like I always do."

The clipped edge to Tru's words hurt a little, but Davis had to admit it might be justified.

"I just don't want anything else to happen to you. Jack's been laying low for a long time, and I just know he's been planning something big. Blowing up a bank? That's pretty big."

"I know you worry," said Tru, trying to sound more patient. "But you can't protect me every second, especially when I need you somewhere else."

"... Okay. Just please keep you cell on."

"Deal. Oh, and could you call Harrison and tell him to get his butt to the Saturn dealership if he ever wants me to speak to him again?"

"Threaten Harrison with devastating loneliness. Got it."

Saturday 10:01 am

Lou Evers surveyed the contents of his trunk: Ski masks, voice masks, unmarked leather sack, three semiautomatic rifles...

"Got everything?"

Lou jumped and let the trunk slam shut. Standing with his elbow resting on the hood of the beaten Chevy was a man in a long coat, a half-smile plastered on his face.

"Jack! You scared me, man."

"Lou, my man, how many times do I have to tell you to relax? This isn't rocket science; it's armed robbery."

Jack led him in a complicated handshake that he made up as they went. Lou smiled. Since Jack had found him at the halfway house a month ago and subsequently offered him this job, Lou had known this would turn out well. Jack would provide the plan, the cover, and the equipment. All Lou had to do was put in a couple other guys and five minutes of leg work and he'd be on easy street for the rest of his life. The prospect was a lot better than what Lou had come up with (knocking over 7-11's until he found a winning lotto ticket). All he was worried about now was skipping town before Jack came by to collect his share afterwards.

"I'm relaxed. Everything's fine."

"Great. I came by to make sure you had everything you needed."

"Oh, yes sir. I'm sure of it."

"Guns?"

"Yep. All three, plus ammo."

"Masks?"

"Yep, black ones."

"Directions to the Fifth Street bank?"

"Yep, across the bridge and... Fifth Street?"

Jack frowned. "Yes. Fifth Street. Across the bridge? Lou, you weren't thinking First Street when I've been distinctly saying Fifth Street for four consecutive weeks, were you? That will throw a huge monkey wrench into things."

"No, no. I got it. Fifth Street bank: That's on Fifth and... And Nicollet! Fifth and Nicollet."

"That's right," Jack said, patting Lou on his acne-scarred cheek. "I knew I could count on you. Now get cracking. You don't want to be late for the security guard change. Oh, and one more thing."

Jack dug in a pocket and pulled out a 3x5 photo, which he passed to Lou. Lou examined it and his smile turned feral.

"Whoa... Who is that?"

"An old friend."

"What's this for?"

"Luck," said Jack. "It's always lucky to have a pretty girl in your pocket."

With that, Jack winked at Lou and walked briskly away. He had one more car to visit before the day got going.

Saturday 11:20 am

That had been entirely too easy, Tru mused as she crossed the street from the police station to the firehouse. Tru had barely even had to come up with a decent story. At the mention of the word 'BOMB', the entire precinct jumped into action. The First Street bank was now surrounded by cop cars, armored cars, SWAT cars, and many, many cops. She supposed she should have expected as much; since recent tragic events, the police were under a great deal of pressure to take seriously every threat, no matter how vague.

She supposed also that she should be thanking God for small favors. With her friends' meddling, her mother's haunting, and not to mention forty dead people counting on her to change the timeline, she ought to take an easy save as a gift. Still, it felt wrong. Where was the skepticism? Where was the searching of classified files? Where was the running for her life?

Where was Jack?

Jack. He'd kept himself hidden for three months and she knew she wasn't going to find him now. Short of that, there was only one other thing she could think of to assure herself she had done everything she could to avert the catastrophe.

Tru knocked on the firehouse door. When it opened, there stood a round, rather short fellow with white hair and whiskers. With the January wind kicking up the color in his cheeks and nose, he made Tru think very much of Santa Clause. Definitely a stark contrast to Tamzarian.

"May I help you?"

"I hope so. I'm looking for paramedic Frink."

"Oh! You mean Kiff. Come on in."

Like a gentleman, he held the door for her and then led the way, practically skipping. Yep – Definitely not Tamzarian.

Santa led her to the station kitchen, where about a dozen emergency workers sat on stools and chairs, their eyes fixed on the small, slender woman who perched on the countertop, regaling her audience.

"... So then Quinn says 'How can you be such a friggin' liberal in this day and age?' And then I said 'What do you mean? I like Bush – Just the other kind.'" The men laughed uproariously. Kiff put up her hands. "Wait, wait. It gets better. So then Rickles says he doesn't get it. And –"

The loud emergency tones over the P.A. system interrupted her.

"TRUCK 3, ENGINE11: COMMERCIAL FIRE ALARM AT TWO-TWO-OH FIRESIDE ROAD."

A groan rose up from the kitchen and the fire fighters hustled out of the room, some of them giving Kiff a friendly nudge as they passed her. Within ten seconds, Kiff was the only one left in the room. Tru smiled from the doorframe as Kiff hopped down from the counter and went for the coffee maker. The last time she'd seen Kiff, the animosity between her and her co-workers had been as thick as peanut butter.

"Looks like progress," Tru observed.

Kiff looked up and beamed.

"Davies," she said brightly. "Come on in. One of the Mikes just made coffee."

Tru settled on a stool at the counter, where Kiff joined her with coffee that looked and smelled kind of like tar. Kiff looked different: Still thin, but not so much that one would question her nutrition. The circles under her eyes were fading, giving way to the brightness there. She even had better posture, as if she'd dropped something heavy from her shoulders. Indeed, the only outward sign that she'd been through any sort of ordeal was the pale vertical scar that bisected her left eyebrow – A gift from the pinky ring of her erstwhile partner, Andy.

"Drink it slow. I think I saw Peterson using the dregs to seal the cracks in the sidewalk," said Kiff.

"Thanks for the tip. You look good, Kiff."

"Progress, like you said. Making peace with your co-workers does wonders for your skin. What about you? How's the leg?"

"It's getting there. Seems to be cramping up lately, though."

"When the weather turned? That's normal at first. Stretch it out when you get up in the morning and you'll be fine."

Tru smiled. Kiff at least wasn't telling her to wear bubble wrap for the rest of her life.

"So what brings you here? Looking to change jobs?"

"As much as I like hanging around kitchenettes and listening to sordid anecdotes, I kind of came here to ask you for a favor."

"A favor?" Kiff said, her uneven eyebrows up. "Okay, but if you want it kept quiet, that's where we enter a gray area."

Tru laughed. "Why? Is your new partner the town crier or something?"

"Funny you should ask."

At that moment, the fire pole bore a figure down from the upper floor. He practically bounced off the linoleum and came to stand over Kiff like a personal footman. Tru looked him over: A tall, red-haired, freckle-faced boy who looked too young to shave.

"Kiff, I looked all over. I can't find the henway."

"Rickles," Kiff said with strained patience, "you weren't supposed to go looking for it. You're supposed to ask me what it is."

"Oh. Is it some Jewish thing?"

Tru half expected Kiff to start pounding her head against the counter.

"Tru, this is Pat Rickles, my new partner. Say hello and then good-bye, Rickles."

"Hello and then good-bye, Rickles!" he said, laughing hard at his own joke.

"Yeah, that's funny, dear. We've got girl stuff to talk about, so would you mind?"

"Oh no, I don't mind."

Rickles plunked himself down on the stool next to Kiff and began drinking her coffee. Kiff gave Tru a please-make-this-end look. Tru returned a sympathetic one.

"So," Kiff sighed. "What's this favor you need? Do you need a ride someplace really really fast?"

"Not exactly." Tru cleared her throat. "You know that... thing that I do?"

The color disappeared from Kiff's face.

"Not really. And I like it that way, remember?"

"I know. I'm sorry to bring it up, but in this case, I think you'd want me to."

Kiff swallowed hard. "I-I didn't..?"

"No, no. It's not you," Tru assured her.

"Then why -?"

"Because you asked me to."

"Aw, jeez."

"The good news is everything points to the situation already being resolved," said Tru. "It's just that the last time we heard from Jack was when... you know."

"Me," Kiff supplied.

"Right. And this'll be the first time I saw you since then, and I just have this feeling that Jack might still... I just want you to look after yourself today, okay?"

"Who's Jack?" asked Rickles.

"He's, um, one of those creepy guys at the park who tries to give candy to little kids he doesn't know." To Tru, she said "Okay! Consider it done."

"And if you get any weird calls today –"

"Like what?" asked Rickles.

"Rickles, if you can't keep up with the conversation, it's better not to join in."

"I'd just like you to keep an eye out, particularly around First Street. Speaking of which, I should get down there and make sure the buildings are still standing."

"This wouldn't have to do with that huge bomb scare the guys at the house across the street are trying to keep quiet, would it?"

Damn.

"It might."

Some people just take up a hobby."

"I collect stamps."

"That's great, Rickles," said Kiff. "Say, could you go find me the assfore?"

"The heck is an ass-for?"

"For sitting, stupid."

Frowning, Rickles slid out of the room. Kiff threw up her hands.

"I've been telling him variations of that joke for three months. How do you work in EMS and not know that joke?"

Tru noticed Kiff's voice was shaking, and so was her hand when she sipped her coffee.

"Are you all right, Kiff?"

Kiff forced a nervous giggle. "Not if I keep drinking this. Tastes like it was brewed in celebration of the Magna Carta."

Tru was stopped from pressing the question by the emergency tones.

"RESCUE FIVE, RESCUE FIVE: FIFTH AND NICOLLET, CONFIRMED GUNSHOTS. OFFICER DOWN."

Saturday 12:06pm

"Five minutes, Evers," the bailiff droned.

Lou stabbed the keys of the ancient phone in the county lock-up for his one call. It rang five times before the other end picked up.

"Hello."

"Jack! Thank God."

"Lou, is that you? You sound flustered."

"You're goddam right I'm flustered, Jack!"

"Lou, there's no need for profanity. Now calm down."

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down, Jack! You said this was going to be easy!"

"There's no talking to you if that's how you're going to be."

"No, wait! Don't hang up, please!"

"Then calm down and tell me what happened."

Lou looked around the crowded jail to the bailiff hovering behind him and lowered his voice to a frantic whisper.

"We got made. The security guy hit the alarm before we could do anything. Then this cop comes in and starts shooting at us! Ricky and Joey are both dead!"

"Uh-huh," Jack said in his maddening calm. "Anybody else?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"We shot the security guard. And the cop. I don't know if they're dead. I mean we had to, right? That's self-defense."

"No, Lou. Not if you're already waving guns around in a bank."

"Fuck! What are we going to do?"

"Two minutes, Evers," drawled the bailiff.

"All right," said Jack. "Do you still have that photo I gave you?"

"Yeah."

"Good. No listen very carefully, because you need to get this exactly right..."

Saturday 12:18pm

Tru caught up with Kiff at County General ER, vigorously scrubbing her hands and forearms at one of the sinks.

"Kiff!" she said, jogging to a stop at her side.

Kiff looked up with eyes that were blood-shot and red-rimmed from crying. When the call came through, she'd run out of the firehouse so fast that Tru was halfway relieved just to see that she hadn't gotten into an accident in the ambulance. Now she looked somewhat better than she had this afternoon in its original form. Somewhat, but not much.

"It's Fielding," she said before Tru could ask.

Tru's heart froze. Fielding was a friend of Kiff's, and the only one who had come close to looking out for her during the drug-trafficking conspiracy that had briefly seen her end up dead. Now she was washing his blood off her hands.

"There was a hold-up at the Fifth Street bank and it went bad. With everyone else tied up at First Street, Fielding was responding by himself and... It's bad, Davies. The bullet went up under his vest. There's blood all over the rig."

Tru's head was spinning. No, this was wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen. This HADN'T happened. She couldn't have altered the timeline so much in three stupid hours.

Unless... Jack?

She was about to begin questioning Kiff about the possible presence of a man bearing an eerie resemblance to Jason Priestly at the scene when a shadow fell over her. Looking up, she found two hulking policemen who were standing over her like ogres who wanted to eat her.

"Tru Davies?" said one of them.

"Yeah?"

"Place your hands behind your back, please."

Tru blinked. "What?"

That minute hesitation was enough for the cop. He clamped a huge paw on Tru's shoulder, whirled her around, and slammed her into the wall with bruising force. Stars danced across Tru's vision as she felt her feet kicked apart and cold metal snap shut around her wrists. She vaguely registered her rights being read over Kiff's voice.

"Hey, take it easy, Lawrence! What the hell is going on?"

"What's going on, Kiff, is your FRIEND is under arrest for accessory to armed robbery and attempted murder of a peace officer."

TBC...

I know this one is taking off a little slow. Thanks for bearing with me (and not to mention the encouragement), and I'll see you at the next chapter.


	3. Lost

Hi, kids: Sorry it's taken so long. I've been blocked so badly that I was actually toying with the idea of plot ninjas. Here's what I came up with instead. Hope you like it.

Saturday 1:35 pm

Detective Dave Patterson stood leaning over the table in the interrogation room, his beefy hands planted on the surface and his clip-on tie dangling hypnotically before Tru's face. He reminded her of her junior high gym teacher – Overweight, badly dressed, bad teeth, bad comb-over. And like the gym teacher, this guy was all too ready to detain her for no reason.

"All right," he said. "Let's go over it one more time."

Tru grit her teeth and resisted the urge to call him 'Sipowitz'. He'd been pulling this one-more-time crap for an entire hour that nobody had to spare, especially her.

"I told you. I overheard some guy at a payphone this morning. I didn't catch all of it, but I heard the words 'two-thirty' and 'bank' and 'explosion'. Then I saw him walk into the bank with a suspicious package. I thought I should call somebody and report it."

A lame story to be sure, but the best she could come up with on short notice.

"Would this be the bank on First Street or Fifth?"

"First."

"And what did this package look like?"

"Like a bomb."

"How so?"

"Look," Tru said. "I've already told you everything I know four times. I'm not saying another word until I get some answers of my own."

Patterson shook his head sadly. "Ms. Davies, if I was you –"

"If I were YOU, I'd quit interrupting and find that bomb before it's too late!"

Patterson's eyes snapped with barely contained fury. "We checked that building, Davies. Top to bottom with metal detectors and dogs. You know what we found? Squat, that's what! Meanwhile, the bank across town got knocked over and the one cop available to respond to it got shot!"

Suddenly, what he was driving at sank in and Tru could hardly breathe.

"Wait a minute. You don't think that I –"

"Lou told us everything: How you was to distract the precinct with a phony bomb threat while him and his boys pulled the job, how you knew we wouldn't ask questions because nobody wants another nine-eleven on their hands. Real classy, taking advantage of America's greatest tragedy like that. But you screwed up. You got a cop shot. And I don't care if I lose my shield; I'm taking you down hard."

"Wait a minute! Who the hell is Lou?"

"HE'S THE GUY WHO PULLED THE BANK JOB, TRU!" Patterson exploded. "When we brought him in, he sang like a canary."

"I'm telling you, I don't know any Lou!"

"Oh yeah?" Patterson took something out of his breast pocket and flipped it onto the table in front of her. "Then where'd he get that?"

Tru stared. It was a close-up photo of her, laughing on a park bench.

"I... I don't know..."

"Really? Then I guess you've got no ideas about the contents of your trunk either."

Tru shook her head, too numb to speak.

"Yeah. We searched your trunk. We heard you was smart, but I didn't think you'd know how to make a C4 bomb."

"A WHAT?"

Patterson stood up straight, triumphant. "Still not giving up, huh? Let me tell you something, Davies: Lou's already cutting deals just by serving you up. It's up to you how much you want to give us, but he's already way ahead. And if that cop dies, you're going to need as many points as you can get as long as you're in this precinct. Now you think about that for a while, and then we'll go over it one more time."

Saturday 2:30 pm

An hour later Patterson sat at his desk, taking his time with finishing a meatball sub and going over the arrest reports. Davies could sit in the hole and stew all night for all he cared. Lou and Tru. What a pair. This was the easiest bust of his career. That Davies chick hadn't even lawyered-up yet. He just hoped Fielding lived to see the bastards go down.

The desk phone rang and Patterson used his shirt as a napkin for his fingers before answering.

"Patterson."

"Hello, Detective Patterson. This is Dr. Harper from County General. It seems you're listed as an emergency contact for an Officer Fielding?"

"Yeah! Are you his doctor? How's he doing? How'd the surgery go?"

A pause. A sigh. "I'm very sorry. Officer Fielding died in the operating room about twenty minutes ago."

Patterson opened and closed his mouth in silent shock for a full minute before he shot to his feet and, with a primal roar, hurled the phone across the room to smash against the wall.

"Get Lawrence in here NOW!"

Jack listened to the sudden dial tone and shook his head. God, cops were predictable.

Saturday 2:43 pm

Tru paced the small holding cell liked a caged tiger, her socks becoming filthy on the seldom-cleaned floor. They'd taken her shoes, her jacket, and everything in her pockets, and left her in this locked room to read the endless graffiti and contemplate everything that was wrong with this situation. Legally, they could hold her for 24 hours without a formal charge. That was about 22 hours too many, and they were dawdling about even setting bail. When she'd asked for a phone call, the arresting officer had yanked the cord out of the nearest office phone and tossed it to her, then told the unit secretary to make a note that Tru was waiving her right to a phone call. While part of her admired everyone's loyalty to their fallen comrade, she wished they'd place the energy of their anger into something more constructive than tormenting her. Like, say, finding out why someone she was sure she didn't know had decided to randomly set her up?

Fielding. Was she really responsible for what had happened to him? Did it happen because she'd ignored the warnings of her friends and her mother? Was this what she meant? Stop before you get hurt again? Stop before you get somebody ELSE hurt?

No. It couldn't be. She'd already stopped the bomb from going off, and she supposed a wounded cop was mildly better than a mass casualty incident. But how had she stopped it? The cops claimed there hadn't even been a bomb in the building. None of this had made sense from the beginning. Who robs a bank with a bomb? Who?

She jumped when the door opened. It was Lawrence, her hulking arresting officer. He threw her shoes at her without warning, and she barely caught them before they could hit her in the head.

"Get those on. You're being transferred."

"Transferred where?"

"Get them on now, or I'm dragging you through the snow barefoot."

Five minutes later, Tru was shivering in the back of an unmarked sedan. Lawrence drove stoically through the gathering snow storm, his partner silent beside him. Her request for heat having been ignored, Tru rubbed her arms in a sad attempt at friction heat and watched the scenery go by. They reached the edge of town, went past it, out onto the freeway, and onto a country road she didn't know... Transferred? Where the hell could they be transferring her to that was this far out of town?

"Where are we going?"

Again, they ignored her.

"I know you're not taking me to some other police station. Now what's going on?"

"Ooh, so now she wants to talk?" Lawrence said to his partner. "She ought to try telling us there's an anthrax letter in the postal system somewhere. That just might distract us long enough for her to escape, don't you think?"

"Look, there's a very real possibility that a bomb is still out there somewhere. The more time you waste with me –"

"You know what, Davies? I'm sick of that subject. Let's talk about something else. Let's talk about a police officer with nineteen years on the force, three weeks away from his sargent's exam, had a wife and three kids at home."

Had?

They hit a bump that almost clocked Tru's head against the roof. Looking out the window, she found the country road had become a gravel road through a wooded area. Secluded, she thought with a sinking feeling. Secluded, in an unmarked car with two plain-clothes cops who blamed her for the death of a comrade.

"Hey!" she said, banging on the plexiglass that separated the front and back seats. "Where are we going?"

"Let's just say... Justice moves too slow sometimes."

Tru looked frantically around for a way to escape. There were no handles or window controls on the doors. It looked like the only route to her freedom was through the front seat.

She sat back, drew her knees up to her chest, and kicked out with both feet. The shield buckled, but didn't break.

"Hey!" Lawrence roared. "What the hellya –"

Tru kicked again. The barrier cracked, and the car swerved on the slick road.

"Knock that shit off! You're going to friggin' kill us!"

"Then stop the car," Tru demanded.

"Hal, do something! I'm trying to drive here!"

"Like what?" Hal wailed.

Tru kicked. The barrier shattered. Lawrence shrieked as one of the splinters flew into his eye. Hal lunged for the wheel, but it was too late: The car was already careening off the road. It burst through a snow bank, smashed its right fender on a tree, and the next thing Tru knew, the ceiling traded places with the upholstery and she was being tossed about like a sock in a dryer. The sensation ended abruptly when the window rushed up to meet her head. She heard a crunch, and the lights went out.

Saturday 3:00 pm

Jack tugged the new wrinkles out of his three-piece suit before sauntering into the precinct house. It took all his will not to dance over the short distance. This was going to be the gloat of a lifetime.

Inside, he stood over the desk sergeant and cleared his throat for attention. Sergeant Sykes didn't even look up from his stapling.

"Yeah?"

"Jack Harper, attorney at law. I'm here to represent a young lady who was arrested this afternoon."

"Which one?"

"A Tru Davies, I believe. You're holding her on suspicion of accessory to armed robbery, among other things."

At the mention of the name, Sykes's thin face paled and he turned alarmed eyes up to Jack.

"Uh... I... I'm not... Let me just get the guy in charge of her case. Don't move!"

Sykes bounded across the room to Patterson's desk.

"Patterson!" he hissed.

"Sykes, what did I tell you about bugging me when 'All My Children' is on?"

"We got a problem. Davies' lawyer is here!"

Patterson inhaled a bit of the twix he was eating and coughed little bits of it across the room.

"What?"

"Davies' fucking lawyer! What are we going to tell him?"

"She doesn't have a lawyer. She waived her phone call and she never asked for..."

Sykes frowned when Patterson cut himself off, watching the older man's eyebrows draw together until he looked like Bert from Sesame Street.

"Patterson?"

"Frink," Patterson growled.

"Huh? You mean that little medic across the street? What about her?"

"She was there when Davies got picked up. She must've sent this guy over here."

"So what do we do? You already sent Hal and Lawrence out to –"

"I KNOW. Tell him she's being transferred across town."

"What about when he finds out she's not there?"

Patterson sighed. "Then... I'll figure something out. Meantime, I've got a little inter-department P.R. to do."

Saturday 3:03 pm

Tru came to with a gray light spreading across her vision and a pounding in her skull that almost drowned out the howling of the wind. Slowly, she recognized the light as daylight that shone through the starred window of a car. The cracks sparkled red with the drops of blood that clung to the glass.

Tru put a hand to her face and then examined her bloody fingers with the sort of detachment that only comes having one's bell rung but good. Somehow, she managed to hold onto the fact that waking up with blood on her face was a bad enough sign that she needed to change the situation and fast.

She sat up through a wall of pain and realized that she had been lying in broken glass. Specifically, she'd been lying in the remains of the car's opposite window and staring directly up at the sky. The car had stopped on its side after rolling over at leas twice.

Tru wouldn't remember later how she did it, but she somehow managed to stand and get the broken door above her head open. Rubbery arms shaking, she pulled herself up onto the car's upraised side and slithered out, only to fall into the snow a moment later. She lay there for a moment, waiting for her brain to stop exploding enough for her to see. The totaled car swam in front of her, its front end angled down into a stream that ran parallel to the road.

She pushed herself to hands and knees on the bank. More cops would be here soon. She had to get away before then. And speaking of cops, where were Lawrence and Hal? Shouldn't they be pouncing on her like cougars about now?

Up on numb legs, she lurched forward until she made it around to the half-submerged front of the car. The windshield was a crumpled membrane in the distorted frame. Through the intricate network of cracks, Tru could just make out the two inert men, one on top of the other, face-down in the water of the stream.

Without thinking past the fact that she had to hurry, she peeled the windshield back like the lid of a sardine can. With her feet braced in the ever-deepening snow, she grabbed Lawrence by the jacket and heaved him up onto the bank. When his back hit the ground, a spurt of water flew from his mouth and he began to breathe on his own.

Tru repeated the process with Hal. Her head pounded with the exertion and the curtains threatened to fall again. Tru blinked them away. She couldn't pass out. She had to go. She had to run.

She made it to her feet again and staggered off into the woods, into the falling snow, into the howling wind. She shivered. She walked.

Stop, Tru.

Stop? No, she couldn't. She had to keep going. It didn't matter that she was cold or tired or that her head was killing her. She had people to save.

The wind bit cruelly through her thin sweatshirt and jeans. The snow fell harder, so much like her dream.

Stop.

She couldn't. It didn't matter that her hands and feet were cramping or that the blood continued to seep from the cut above her eye. Keep going.

So cold.

Stop.

Yes... No! She had to keep going. It didn't matter that her legs were getting to be about as useful as dead oak trees or that she couldn't even keep her frozen eyes open anymore. Keep going. She had to, or something terrible would happen.

She didn't know how long or how far she'd gone when the wave of nausea knocked her off her feet. On hands and knees once more, her empty stomach heaved as the thick snow accumulated on her back. When she tried to rise again, her arms and legs gave out and she fell, sightless, strengthless. She wasn't shivering anymore. She wasn't even cold anymore. She felt nothing, saw nothing.

Stop, Tru.

Yes... Yes.

TBC...

I'll try to get the next update posted a little quicker next time. Until then, stay warm!


	4. Kiff and Harrison

AN: Okay, okay! I'm really sorry. I know we're coming along, slowly but... slowly. I hope you find this one worth the wait.

Saturday 3:16 pm

"And I'll never have that recipe a-gain! Oh nooooo!"

Kiff finally unplugged her ears as Rickles finished the song he seemed to have on a loop in his head. He'd been warbling it non-stop all day, even as they scrubbed Fielding's blood out of their ambulance. Now, as they cruised along the road on a posting and there was truly no escape from the endless rendition of 'Macarthur Park', Kiff was finding it harder and harder to keep from strangling the poor kid.

This was turning out to be a very lousy day. Kiff had always wondered how she would handle it if a friend wound up in her ambulance. Now that it had finally happened and poor Fielding was lying in a coma at County General, she decided she didn't care for it one bit. Then there was that Tru Davies. The second she'd walked through the firehouse door that morning, Kiff had had a bad feeling. Then she winds up getting arrested for accessory to armed robbery? No. Something wasn't right.

Not that bad feelings were anything new to Kiff, especially since...

"Kiff? Hellooo?"

"Hm?" Kiff said, only then realizing that Rickles had been talking to her instead of picking up the song yet again.

"I said, why the long face? You look like somebody just ran over your dog. Somebody ran over my dog once. His name was Buster. Or maybe it was Boomer. He was okay, though. He just kind of ducked between the wheels and -"

"I don't have a dog, Rickles."

"Oh. Did your stock crash? There's been a lot of that going around lately, you know. But at least we're not in Russia, right? I mean, what's the ruble worth now? About point-oh-oh-three cents?"

"I don't have any stocks."

"Oh. Then is it gas or something? I've been having that too. I think it was that chili Mike O. made for dinner last -"

"I didn't eat the chili. I don't like chili. For God's sakes, Rickles, my friend got shot. You were there. Not to mention that a very innocent girl who once saved my life is now sitting in jail with a bunch of hostile cops. You want to try and analyze me some more?"

Rickles put on his confused frown, an expression that appeared so often that Kiff was sure his eyebrows would eventually grow together.

"You mean that chick they picked up at the hospital while she was talking to you? I thought she was the one who got Fielding shot."

"Trust me. She didn't."

The emergency tones came over the radio, mercifully ending the conversation.

"CREW FOUR-SIX, CREW FOUR-SIX: ROLLOVER CAR ACCIDENT AT HIGHWAY THIRTY-FIVE AND SILVER CREEK."

Kiff snatched the radio mic' from the console.

"Dispatch from crew four-nine."

"GO FOR DISPATCH, FOUR-NINE."

"We're in the area. Do you want us to back up four-six?"

"UM... SURE. KNOCK YOURSELVES OUT."

Kiff flipped on the lights and siren.

"Drive, Rickles."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Kiff smiled as Rickles drove. He may be a bit of a dim bulb, but he knew when to shut up and work.

They were at the scene in less than five minutes. They pulled up next to the creek, where four-six was already parked. A car was on its side in the water, already draped with snow on its upturned surface. Mike O. and Mike W. were struggling up the bank with a large man on a backboard.

Kiff yanked on her black stocking hat and jumped out into the ever-thickening snowfall, jogging up to take a corner of the backboard while Rickles took another.

"Thanks," puffed Mike O.

"How many?" asked Kiff.

"Two. Unrestrained in the front seat, both with a brief loss of consciousness, but they've come around since we got here. The other guy wouldn't let us board him. He's inside already."

Once they were on level ground, Kiff skipped ahead to open the ambulance doors and found herself face-to-face with...

"Lawrence!"

Lawrence blinked at her from his spot on the bench seat. He had a wool blanket draped over his shoulders and he was holding a bloody towel to his jaw.

"Frink. The hell are you doing here?"

"I'm working. What are YOU doing here?"

"Rolling my friggin' car. What's it look like?"

Kiff bit her tongue. Cops always made the worst patients. As the others loaded Hal onto the mounted cot, she hopped inside and knelt next to Lawrence, where she tugged the towel away from his face.

"Let me see. Come on, don't be such a baby."

Lawrence grudgingly let her examine the cut and start taping a proper bandage in place.

"Wow, nice one. You're going to need stitches."

"Fuck you, Frink."

"What's your problem, man?"

"Maybe you should ask your girlfriend," Lawrence said poisonously.

"Lawrence, for the last time, I am not gay - not that there's anything wrong with that. But if I were gay, I swear, your sister would be at the top of my list of romantic conquests..."

"That bitch Davies!"

"Davies?" Kiff frowned. "How is this her fault?"

Lawrence clamped his jaw shut and averted his eyes. The barely contained murderous gleam reminded Kiff of how he looked when he'd arrested Tru. So much so in fact that... No, he wouldn't. Would he?

A question suddenly occurred to Kiff.

"Lawrence, how'd you get out of the car?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're soaking wet. Olson said you were gorked when he got here. So why are you sitting here talking to me instead of drowned in your car? The only thing I can figure is someone pulled you out and left you on the bank."

The ire in Lawrence's eyes suddenly turned to terror.

"How the hell should I know if I was so out of it? Get the hell off me!"

"Lawrence, who else was in the car?"

Lawrence was just looking like he was about to crack, out of spite if nothing else, when Mike O. stuck his head in through the rear doors.

"We're rolling, guys. Frink, you staying or going?"

Kiff fixed Lawrence with a pointed look.

"I think I'm through with this guy."

With that, she hopped out of the ambulance and started striding toward the wrecked car, Lawrence's bellow of "Stay out of it, you goddam - !" cut off by the closing of the doors.

Two things struck her upon examination of the car: The upturned backseat door was open, and its window was starred and streaked with dried blood. The backseat?

Of course. Why shouldn't it be?

"Whatcha looking at, Kiff?"

Kiff jumped at the sudden appearance of her partner at her shoulder, but quickly recovered.

"Rickles, do me a favor and give us a boost."

"Yes, Ma'am!"

Rickles made a stirrup of his hands for her to stand it and hoisted her up peer into the backseat. No one was there, but there were bloody fingerprints on the doorframe and the faintest remains of staggering footprints off into the woods on the other side of the car.

"Kiff, don't get me wrong, I mean you're not heavy or anything, but my eyeballs are starting to freeze and it's still snowing and... Kiff, my fingers are separating."

Kiff jumped down.

"Rickles, wait for me in the rig. I'll be right back."

"Where are you going? Bird-watching or something? Because I'm pretty sure they all flew South for the -"

"Rickles, stop talking. Go to the rig, crank the heat, and find some ABBA on the radio."

Kiff pulled her hat down over her ears and set off along the trail of tracks. With every step she took, the dread built until her heart was beating like a taiko drum and she was shaking with more than the cold.

Why was this happening again? For God's sakes, Kiff had paid her dues with hanging in there when everyone hated her, everyone else was trying to kill her, and the remaining few were getting kidnapped and shot. Kiff was the hanging-in-there sovereign. When was it ever going to end? Why was she still - ?

Kiff's mental rant was interrupted when she tripped over a snow bank, landing face-down in the snow. This was getting to be ridiculously familiar.

And then the snow drift moaned.

Kiff flipped over and began furiously pawing into the snow until she found a bit of cloth that turned out to be a sweatshirt that turned out to contain none other than Tru Davies.

Tru was nearly as white as the snow, except for her lips and eyelids, which were blue. Blood sat in frozen rivulets over her face from a laceration on her forehead. She was beyond shivering. Only the slightest tremor remained in her body.

"Davies! Come on; don't do this to me again!"

Tru didn't respond at all. Kiff put her fingers against Tru's icy throat and felt for a pulse. It was slow, around 40, and as weak as the sunlight in the snowstorm.

"Shit!" Kiff grunted as she hoisted Tru's body up over her shoulder. Yes, this was turning out to be a very bad day indeed.

Saturday 3:19 pm

Sergeant Sykes felt like he was suffocating. He'd known it was a bad idea from the start. They should've just waited for the system to take care of Davies. They WERE the system. And now the goddam system was going to find out and IA was going to send them all to jail, he just knew it. God, he hated irony.

"Ahem."

Sykes looked up and there was that guy who'd identified himself as Davies's lawyer twenty minutes before. He had a strange look about him, not unfriendly, just patronizing somehow.

"C-Can I help you?"

"Sykes, right? I just wanted to congratulate you on that ingenious bit of stalling earlier. I drove all the way across town to meet with my client, only to find she wasn't there. The problem with stalling is that it only lasts for so long, and you eventually have to think of a better idea."

"I-I don't... We didn't..."

Jack's smile broadened and he leaned forward over Sykes's desk.

"Listen, Officer. Can I let you in on a secret? I don't like defending cop-killers. I get so tired of that whole 'by protecting the guilty, we're ultimately protecting the innocent' bullshit. I mean, what do they think you guys are doing out there anyway? However you're handling this, they won't hear it from me. Fact, if there's anything I can do to help, all you've got to do is say it. Understand?"

The breath that Sykes had been holding left him like an elephant from his shoulders.

"That... That's nice of you."

"Hey, anything I can do for the boys in blue. The bad news is I've still got people to answer to, which means I've still got to meet with my client some time today. So if you could just tell me where she is..?"

Sykes swallowed.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean? Isn't this the kind of thing the man watching the door is supposed to know?"

"I told you she was being transferred. Transferred out of here, you know? But if she's not there, WE don't KNOW where she IS."

Jack blinked. "Are you telling me that you lost her?"

"They guys 'transferring' her got in an accident. They're over at County. But Davies... Well, she didn't quite get transferred. Understand?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. Thank you, Officer. You've been very helpful."

Jack turned and left the station house, wishing he could slam the glass door behind him. Un-fucking-believable.

Saturday 3:24 pm

Kiff never thought she'd be so happy to have a dim bulb for a partner. All she'd had to do was rattle something off about how she was having a delayed traumatic reaction to Fielding's situation and couldn't possibly finish the shift, so please drop me off at home and send my apologies to the captain and whatever you do, don't look back here because my uniform is constricting me in my hyperventilating state and I simply have to take it off right now... Or some such spiel. Whatever it was she said must have worked, because she soon found herself at the threshold of her building with Tru across her shoulders in a fireman's carry.

She made her way through the front door, down the hall, and into the ancient elevator for the five-floor journey, all without being seen. That is, until the lift paused at the third floor to admit the be-curlered, mustachioed caretaker. The notorious busy-body gave Kiff a sideways look.

"Hello, Mrs. Hostetler," Kiff said politely.

"Kathleen. Why is there an unconscious young lady on your back?"

"Er... Ever had sex-on-the-beach?"

It was a moment or so before Mrs. Hostetler realized she was talking about the mixed drink.

"Of course not!"

"Well, neither had she. Whoops, here's my floor. Have a nice day, now."

Safely on her own floor, Kiff released the breath she'd been holding. Sixty years and the Germans were still persecuting the Jews.

She hustled into her tiny one-bedroom and straight to the bathroom. There, she turned the hot water on full-blast. As the water heated up, she stripped Tru down to her underwear and shed her own boots and jacket. Otherwise fully-clothed, she pulled Tru into the tub and held her under the steaming water.

"Come on, Davies... Come on..."

It was several minutes before Tru began to shiver. With a sigh of relief, Kiff set Tru gently on the bathtub floor, put the stopper in place, and stepped out onto the tile. As the tub began to fill, Kiff began to rummage through Tru's jeans pockets until she came up with a cell phone.

Kiff pushed her sopping wet hair out of her eyes and squinted at the tiny screen. Office tools, phone book, scroll, scroll, Dad, scroll, Davis, scroll, scroll, scroll, Harrison...

Davis. That ewok-looking M.E. Yes, that would do.

She punched the call button.

"Yo," said the voice that picked up.

"Hello? Dr. Davis?"

"No, this is Harrison, a.k.a. Doctor Love. Who's this?"

Kiff cringed. She must have dialed Tru's sleazy little brother by mistake.

"This is Kiff, Kathleen Frink. Remember me?"

"I certainly do!" Harrison's voice brightened. "So my sister finally dropped you my number."

"What?"

"Frankly, I was starting to wonder if she'd ever get around to it. She knows how I love a woman in uniform."

Realization hit Kiff like a stomach virus.

"Wait a minute. I -"

"I've got it all planned. We'll go to this nice little Italian joint that -"

"No, no, no, I didn't -"

"Right, right. Italian's too cliché. Do you like Indian food? I know this place where you eat with your fingers. It's so cool."

"HARRISON. Tru didn't give me your number. I found it myself."

"Ooh! A woman in uniform AND she shows initiative. Then why don't we just skip dinner and get straight to the -"

"Listen you fakacta little man!" Kiff yelled into the phone. "I do NOT want to have sex with you. The idea so nauseates me that I'd rather run naked into an active leper colony than have sex with you. If someone held a cute little bunny over the grand canyon and said 'I will drop this rabbit right this second unless you promise to have sex with Harrison Davies some time before you die,' I STILL wouldn't have sex with you!"

"You called to tell me that?" said Harrison.

Kiff took a deep breath. "I called because your sister's in trouble."

Harrison was suddenly all business. "What kind of trouble? Where is she? Is she dead? Is she sick? Is she bleeding?"

"Well, she's not dead... quite."

Kiff rapidly filled him in on the events of the day while keeping one eye on the filling tub and its quaking occupant. Harrison responded with a series of uh-huh's and oh-jeez'es amid a series of background noises: Fabric rustling, doors slamming, footfalls racing, and the hum of a car engine.

"... And that's how fugitives are made," Kiff finished. "So now we need to figure out what to do with her next, preferably before the fuzz figures out what happened. I mean, technically I am committing a pretty serious crime and... Hello? Hello?"

Rather than a reply, there was a knock at the door. Frowning, Kiff went out to the foyer and set the chain before opening the door to peer out into the hallway. There was Harrison, his face flushed and his shoulders heaving with his labored breath as though he'd just run up the stairs all the way from the ground floor.

"Hey... how 'bout... letting me in...? I could really use a... chair... or a bed."

Kiff shut the door, released the chain, and let Harrison in. She then pulled him into the bathroom. The sight of his sister made Harrison's legs go weak, and he dropped to his knees next to the tub. Tru was nearly submerged in the steaming water, and yet she continued to shiver as though she we were having a seizure. Tentatively, he reached out and touched her icy face, jerking away as if he'd been burned.

"Jesus Christ! What's wrong with her?"

"She almost froze to death. I'm trying to re-warm her with the hot water, but that's a lot less practical than the things they can do in the emergency room."

"Is it going to work?"

"Eventually... probably. But she also needs her head x-rayed and her spine checked and... God! Why is this happening again?"

"All right! Okay. Here's what we're going to do: We're going to get Davis over here to take a look at her and then we're going find a place to stash her until she wakes up enough to drive to Canada. I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a Canadian guy..."

Harrison was interrupted by a pounding at the door, or if you prefer, a lambasting at the door. And there was no mistaking the bear-like roar that accompanied the noise.

"Open up, Frink! I know you're in there! Let me in or I'll shoot the lock!"

Harrison watched the color drain from Kiff's face until she was as pale as Tru.

"Shit," she said numbly.

"Who is that? The friggin' brute squad?"

"It's Detective Patterson, the guy who wants your sister's head to be driving distance from the rest of her."

"Shit!"

"All right... All right. Wait here and make sure Tru doesn't drown. I'm going to see if I can get rid of him. If you hear blood spattering, I suggest you jump out the window before he can get his hands on you."

Kiff took a deep breath and made her way out front. When she opened the door, she did her best to look surprised.

"Patterson. What are you doing here?"

"Girl scout cookies. I highly recommend the thin mints."

He shouldered his way past Kiff into the apartment.

"Come on in," Kiff muttered, annoyed.

Patterson was already peeking around corners and looking in closets.

"If you're looking for the deodorant, it's in the linen cabinet," said Kiff.

"Just came by to say thanks for taking such good care of my guys. I went to find you at the station, but they said you went home because you was feeling so bad about Fielding."

"Yes."

"I also heard you went off to poke around the accident scene without your partner. You know that kid ain't too bright, but he sure can be helpful."

Kiff ground her jaws together. "Yes."

"So where is she?"

"Who? What the hell is going on?"

"Can it, Frink. You know who I'm talking about."

"Obviously I don't," said Kiff. "And whoever it is, I don't think you're going to find them in my pantry."

Patterson took a jar of capers from the shelf he'd bee rifling through, looked at Kiff directly, and dropped it on the hardwood floor.

"Hey, those were imported!"

Patterson advanced on Kiff, his shoes crunching in the broken glass and brine.

"I said, where is she? Where's that Davies bitch?"

"Davies?"

"Don't play dumb with me, you little yid. We seen you two together at the hospital."

"Of course I know who she is," said Kiff. "Your guys arrested her right in front of me, which is why I'm surprised that you of all people are asking me where she is."

Patterson's mustache quivered in anger.

"And I suppose you had no idea that she escaped this afternoon."

"I was working this afternoon."

"Working, huh? Then why are you all wet?"

Kiff folded her arms defiantly. "I prefer to shower with my uniform on. It saves time."

"Oh yeah? Why don't I grab you a towel."

Patterson made a move for the bathroom. Before she could stop herself, Kiff lunged after him.

"No, wait!"

"Why?" Patterson said, not missing a triumphant step. "Something in there I shouldn't be seeing?"

Kiff froze, knowing the only way to keep him away from Tru now was to hit him over the head with a skillet. She was rapidly weighing the pros and cons when the bathroom door opened and Harrison's voice sang out.

"Babe, is that the pizza guy? Make sure there's no olives on it before you - Oh." Harrison put on and innocent frown at Patterson.

Kiff and Patterson both stared. Harrison had emerged from the bathroom, wearing one of Kiff's blue towels around his waist. From the look of things, that was all he was wearing.

"This a friend of yours, Kath?" asked Harrison.

Kiff shook herself out of the stare.

"Er... PETE... this is Detective Patterson. He was just leaving."

"No, no! Stay," Harrison said brightly, brushing past the cop to Kiff. He stood behind her to wrap his arms around her stiff body and plant a kiss on her neck. "Big strong guy like that? Normally I'm not into this kind of thing, but I'll try anything once."

Patterson fled for the door. Kiff pulled away from Harrison and followed him. In the frame, Patterson paused and shook a finger at Kiff's nose.

"I'll be back. And when I do, I'm bringing a warrant and a lot more cops."

Kiff smiled sweetly.

"Kiss your wife for me."

With that, she shut and locked the door. Harrison spread his hands.

"You gotta love me."

"I don't even like you," said Kiff.

Harrison shrugged. "Well, you can't have everything."

At that moment, the towel dropped.

"No," said Kiff. "You really can't. And for God's sakes, you could've left your shorts on!"

Saturday 4:00 pm

I DON'T UNDERSTAND IT, Jack mused as he drove through downtown. I GAVE HER TO THEM. I EVEN THREW IN A SMALL-TIME HOOD FOR GARNISH. HOW DO YOU MISS-PLACE THE CITY'S MOST WANTED UN-CRIMINAL?

He sighed. Months of planning down the drain. He should've known better than to entrust his masterpiece to amateurs. But all was not lost. Plan B had been included in the preparations.

He cast a glance into the back seat, where a grocery bag full of fuses and timers was still sitting nicely upright.

All was indeed not lost. Not by a long shot.

TBC...

And there you are. I know the chapters are slow in coming, but at least they're long ;) Thanks to all for your patience and kind words so far, especially Cherrygirl (I don't know if I would've continued without your support). See you at the next update, which will hopefully be sooner than the start of the next administration.


	5. Soulsick

A/N: Happy spring, everyone. It fell on a weekend here in mock-Scandinavia, so we had a picnic. (Ba-dum-CHING!) Regional jokes aside, thanks again for your kind reviews. I hope you like this next chapter just as much. Ps - I have to confess that I stole a line in this installment from the movie 'Stigmata'. Please don't think less of me. It was just too fitting to resist.

Saturday 4:14 pm

'These stairs might as well be the Matter Horne,' Davis mused as he gasped his way up the last flight in Kiff's building. Having received Harrison's call some twenty minutes earlier, he'd run the entire distance from the morgue, not even bothering to take off his lab coat or change his shoes. It was a good thing he didn't have a car; He probably would've caused several accidents.

When finally he lurched to the door of number 503, he barely touched his fist to the door before it was open.

"Where the hell have you been, man?" Harrison demanded from the door frame. "We've been dying over here! People are getting arrested and banged around and naked... although I admit that last one is pretty much my fault. But how was I supposed to know the towel was going to -"

"For God's sakes, let the guy in!" Kiff reached around Harrison, grabbed Davis by the arm and pulled him inside. "Tru's in the bedroom. I've been trying to warm her up with - Oy Gevalt! Are you okay?"

Davis was hunched over, his hands on his knees and his shoulders heaving as droplets of sweat fell from his forehead to the floor. He looked for all the world like he was about to either faint or throw up.

"Just need... to catch my... breath..."

"Breathe later! Now get in here and be a doctor."

Harrison grabbed Davis and hauled him into the bedroom. There, all thoughts of jogging more regularly fled Davis's mind. Tru was lying in Kiff's bed, looking only slightly more animated than one of the corpses at work and only slightly less white than the incessant snow. A gauze pad was taped over the cut above her eye. Davis knelt beside the bed and gingerly put a hand to Tru's sternum. There was a fine tremor of shivering going on, and the skin felt strangely cool, even with all the blankets and hot water bottles she'd been packed in.

"How long has she been like this?"

"I don't know," said Kiff. "At least an hour. Last auxiliary temp was 93."

"Have you tried warm IV fluids?"

"I haven't got any."

"Oh, right. How about a peritoneal lavage?"

"I don't know how to do that!" said Kiff.

"Yo! I hate to interrupt this medical jam session, but hadn't we better think about getting out of here before Detective Dickhead comes back?"

As much as he hated agreeing with Harrison as a rule, Davis knew he was right.

"Well, we can't take her to the morgue. That's the first place they'll look."

"And that would be creepy," said Harrison.

"And we certainly can't take her to the hospital. That's where they picked her up in the first place," said Kiff.

Harrison cleared his throat. "You know, I think I might actually know a place."

"Harrison, we are NOT taking her to your bookie's," said Davis.

Harrison gasped and put a hand to his heart. "Davis! Are you suggesting that I would put my own sister in...? Well, okay. But not this time! No, I was thinking of a place a little less frequented by cops and a little more... wholesome."

Saturday 5:00 pm

The security guard at the First Street Bank's front desk stared at the clock above the glass doors. In true bank fashion, the last teller was escaping at five on the dot. All he had to do now was lock up and he'd make it home in time for That 70's Show.

The teller, whose arms were full of accounting files, was struggling to open the door. Exasperated by the delay, the guard swung his feet down from the desk and dragged himself over to the door. But before he could pull it open...

"Here, let me help you with that."

The teller smiled a thank-you at the handsome young man who had pulled the door open from the outside and then flattened himself against it as she slipped outside. Jack let the door close behind him and resettled the duffel on his shoulder, frowning at the guard.

"Wow. Nice piece of tail like that and you don't even open the door for her? Ever think that maybe you're the reason they say chivalry is dead?"

Incensed, the guard planted himself between Jack and the lobby.

"The bank is closed, SIR. You'll have to leave."

"That's more like it! Protect your territory. Unfortunately..."

The guard didn't even see Jack's fist lash out before he was cold-cocked on the floor. Jack stood over him, shaking out his throbbing hand.

"... there's a reason chivalry died out."

Saturday 5:23 pm

Kiff thought it was ironic: All through her career, she'd been faced with doubt as to her ability to perform - A sentiment based solely on her gender and size. Now she was with not one, but two able-bodied men, and which one of them was carrying the unconscious full-grown human being? Then again, Davis had looked like the journey to her apartment alone nearly killed him. And Harrison... Well, it didn't look like the bulk of his exercise came from weight-lifting.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Davis said as they ascended the alley-side fire escape. "It looks like the kind of building people stage cock fights in."

"Relax, D. Tru says it's because they don't like to advertise. Although personally I wouldn't mind unleashing the Fab' Five on this place, I gotta say."

They reached the fire escape landing and Harrison peered through the frosty window.

"Hello?" he yelled, knocking on the pane. "Anybody home? Gomen nasai? Konichiwa? Wasabi?"

Presently, the window opened and Haioshi's bald head appeared in the frame. His gray eyebrows went up at the sight on his fire escape: A husky man in a lab coat, a skinny man who bore a striking resemblance to a ferret, a nervous young woman in an EMT uniform, and a very familiar girl who was limp across the EMT's shoulders. Throw in a priest and a rabbi and you could have a pretty good joke.

"Hi," said Harrison. "Hoshi, right? Er... Hashy? Hi-yoshi?"

"Please," Davis said, shouldering past Harrison and coming eye-to-eye with Haioshi, "excuse my friend; He's an idiot. My name is Davis, this is Harrison and Kathleen, and I believe you know Tru. As you can probably see, we're in a bit of a bind here to put it mildly. We certainly understand if you don't want to let us in, but I'm sure that when Tru survives this, she'll remember the huge part you played and spend the rest of her life being the model student."

Kiff couldn't help being impressed. Davis had always struck her as shy and a little squirrelly. But dangle Tru's welfare in front of him, and he was as focused as a bullet. Incredibly, Haioshi didn't look all that surprised to see them. He just looked from one of his visitors to the next until his eyes fell on Tru and stayed there.

"So. You have found your way here today after all, Tru San."

Haioshi held his arms out and nodded to Kiff. Kiff carefully knelt before the window and let him pull Tru off her shoulders and into the studio. Davis followed, leaving Kiff and Harrison on the landing.

"After you, my lady," said Harrison.

Kiff hesitated. All she had to do was say no. All she had to do was descend the fire escape and go home. All she had to do was walk away, and the nightmares would end.

So why couldn't she?

"I'm not your lady. I'm not even your associate. And I'm not going in first just so you can stare at my ass for a few seconds."

Meanwhile, Davis kicked off his shoes and hurried through the empty studio after Haioshi. Haioshi walked smoothly to his office, as though the woman in his arms weighed no more than a kitten. At the door, he paused and looked over his shoulder at Davis.

"Can I take it you'd be willing to help me?"

Davis blinked.

"Me? Help you? Help you do what?"

"Help me help her, of course. We should hurry, I think."

Davis hesitated. He hadn't anticipated Haioshi wanting to take over, nor finding himself in the position of having to trust a stranger with Tru's welfare. Nevertheless, it wasn't as if he could afford not to have an open mind, especially since meeting Tru.

"My friend," said Haioshi. "Please. Do not deny an old man this honor."

Not sure what that meant but hard pressed for options, Davis nodded reluctantly.

"Good. Come in, then. You can start by lighting the incense."

Saturday 5:00pm

"What do you mean you won't give me a warrant?" Patterson barked into his desk phone. "You put me on hold for twenty damn minutes just to jerk me around..? Probable cause? Fuck that! I KNOW this little kike is in on... No, I will not take it easy on the racial slurs! She's a lying, sneaking little yid! A heebie! A hook-nose! A red-sea... Hello?"

As everyone in the station house pretended not to notice, Patterson slammed the receiver into its cradle. Fucking Davies. Fucking Frink! He should've known she wasn't good people. What kind of medic turns tail on her own captain? Fielding had trusted her, and look where he was now. Patterson was going to get her. He was going to get them both if he had to stand on the roof of the station with an AK-47 and demand a warrant for Frink's apartment.

The phone went off and he snatched it before the first ring was over.

"WHAT?"

"Hello, Detective Patterson. This is Jack Harper. Remember me?"

Patterson's heart jumped into his throat and stuck there.

"Y-yes, the public defender. I'm afraid I was just on my way out for the day, so -"

"On your way out for the day? Doesn't seem like something a man in charge of a city-wide woman-hunt should be doing."

Patterson began to sweat.

"I don't...

"Now, before you embarrass yourself with a stuttering lie, let me tell you what I already know: I know that you tried to have Ms. Davies killed for her part in Officer Fielding's murder. I know that your not-so-reliable underlings managed to both lose her and almost get themselves killed in the process. I know that it's been all afternoon and you still haven't been able to find her. I know that Kathleen Frink is in on it and I know that one day, possibly very soon, God will punish you for this failure. At least I would if I were He. Now let me tell you a few things that you need to know. And pay very close attention, because if you don't help me spread the word to the press, I won't hesitate to call them myself and tell them a few things about the way you do business. First of all, you really need to buy yourself an iron. This frumpy thing you've got going on is probably what's keeping you lonely..."

Saturday 5:40 pm

Davis found Kiff hiding out on the fire escape in the waning daylight, staring out at the snow-covered alley. Just looking at her made him shiver: Her boots were caked in ice and her eyebrows and shoulders were frosted.

"Um... Is this really preferable to being inside with us?" he asked from the window.

"I just wanted some air."

"For two hours?"

"I'm from Minnesota. This is shorts weather." Kiff looked Davis over. "You're shivering."

"I'm not from Minnesota. But I think some air would be nice."

Kiff scooted over to make room for him on the edge of the landing. He climbed out the window and sat next to her.

"How's our girl doing?" she asked.

"Still out." Davis paused. "Haioshi did acupuncture on her. And this weird meditation thing that... Well, it wasn't what I would've done. But she doesn't seem any worse."

"But not better either, right?"

"Actually, she seems a little... Well, let's just say that it pays to have an open mind. Haioshi said something about her soul being sick. Anyway, give it a little time. She needs to rest."

"She needs a head C.T."

"Right," sighed Davis. "Why is it that every time she needs a hospital, I'm not allowed to take her to one?"

"Funny how it's never easy."

Davis looked at her. "You know what would be easy? If I could just grab everyone in the world by the lips and tell them 'Don't you EVER hurt that girl.' That would definitely be handy."

"But of course, you can't," Kiff said, half to herself.

They sat quietly for a while, watching the last of the snow fall on twilit city. Then, Kiff spoke in a dark voice that barely sounded like hers.

"I can't do this again."

"What? Listen, nobody knows better than I do how nerve-wracking it can be to be involved in this whole whatever-it-is with Tru. But how do you think she feels about -"

"It's not that." Kiff swallowed. "Davis, ever since... Well, her, I've had this horrible feeling. Like I'm living on borrowed time and it's a debt I'll have to repay sooner or later."

Davis blinked. "Oh."

"I was doing okay, you know? Work was going better than ever. I had friends. Nobody was trying to kill me. Then she walked into the station today and I knew it wasn't going to last. I wasn't going to last."

"Don't talk like that. The people Tru helps almost never die a second time. You're just weirded-out because you're the only one who ever figured it out."

Kiff nodded with the sort of purse-lipped smile that people wear at funerals. "Yeah, that's probably it. I'm sure that's it."

"Good evening."

The pair both turned to look back at the window, where Haioshi's bust was gracing the frame.

"Oh, sir," said Davis. "I mean, Sensei. I mean, what do I call you again?"

Kiff suppressed a sigh. Here was a man who spent far too little time practicing his small talk. Haioshi, however, just smiled at him.

"Forgive the interruption. Tru San is resting. I could use some time myself, and I think she should not be alone."

"Oh! You'd like someone to sit with her. I'll be right -"

"Actually, I thought perhaps the young lady would care."

Kiff frowned. "Me?"

"You. I believe it would do you both some good. Now if you'll excuse me, Harrison has just discovered my katana. I must make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

Saturday 6:58 pm

Tru trudged barefoot across the scorching desert sand in an arbitrary direction. Every way she looked, there was another dune and another. No trees. No breeze. The sun beat down on her like a tidal wave, burning her, killing her.

Help me... Somebody find me...

She made it to the peak of the dune and collapsed. The searing wind picked up and the sand blew over her.

TRU.

With a great effort, she lifted her head out of the sand and looked down into the piedmont. There was a glistening oasis there, vast and clear as the sky. At its heart, the waters rose in the shimmering shape of a woman.

TRU, STOP.

Tru's parched mouth opened and she tried to call out to the watery apparition, but her voice was swallowed by the rising sandstorm. She could feel it burying her - Her legs, her back, her shoulders. She couldn't move. Desperate, she reached out a hand to the water form. The sparkling face just held its quiet smile.

"Mom, help me!"

STOP, TRU.

The sand covered Tru's head, her arm, her hand...

Kiff was startled out of her staring contest with Haioshi's office wall by a loud gasp from the figure on the mat. Tru was awake, her eyes darting wildly around in her sweating face. Kiff scooted closer and set a hand on Tru's quaking shoulder.

"Tru?"

"Mom!"

"No, Davies. It's me. It's Kiff."

Tru's eyes finally settled on her and stayed there.

"You're okay," Kiff said in her best calm EMT voice. "You took a little header, that's all."

"But my mom -"

"Tru, your mother died. You told me that."

Tru's body shook harder and Kiff realized she was being wracked by sobs.

"Hey!" Kiff brushed new tears away from Tru's face. "It was just a bad dream. You're okay."

"No, it's not okay! She left me! She just left me to do this on my own! How could she leave me here alone with this? How could she leave me here alone?"

Kiff sighed. She was trained to solve many different problems, but here was one she couldn't even explain...

Who was she kidding?

She bent down and gathered Tru into her arms. Tru clutched at Kiff's sleeves, crying into the cloth.

"I feel like my heart is breaking. What's happening to me?"

"I don't know, Davies. I don't know."

TBC...

Not a cliffhanger per se I know, but this one was running a little long, even for me. I hope you'll review it anyway.


	6. The Gauntlet

AN: And now we come once again to the next-to-last chapter; I hope it's all you dreamed it could be. And thanks to everyone for your kind words on the last chapter; they were all I dreamed they could be. PS - Sorry if I offend anyone by making fun of Fox News. I'm just more of a Daily Show fan.

Saturday 9:31 pm

The second time Tru woke up, she didn't have the fortune of being distracted by a nightmare. At first, she thought the ringing in her ears was her relentless alarm clock. But when she tried to roll over to smack the snooze button, rockets began to ricochet around inside her skull, drawing a pained sound from her dry throat.

"Open up, Davies. It's okay."

Tru opened her eyes and saw the wall of what she immediately recognized as Haioshi's office. She also saw someone's bare foot. Tru was lying on her side with her head cushioned on an outstretched leg. Gingerly turning her face up, she found Kiff sitting with her back against the wall and a hand resting idly on Tru's arm. She looked as spent as she had the first time they met.

"Kiff? What are you doing here?"

Kiff quirked her tattered eyebrow. "You don't remember?"

Tru closed her eyes and searched her severely gapped memory. She remembered a few things, none of which explained her presence in the dojo or Kiff's presence in any of it. But there was one thing in particular she did remember, which at least explained her presence in Kiff's lap. She looked back up at Kiff.

"I've never told that to anyone before," Tru said quietly.

"Well. Sometimes it's easier to tell that kind of thing to strangers. I'm not a therapist, but I hope it helped to say it to someone."

"Wow. Nice platitude."

"Thanks. How're you feeling?"

In truth, she felt terrible. Besides the headache and her maddening inability to focus on anything, every muscle in her body felt like it had been replaced with pine planks (aching pine planks that would splinter if she tried to move). It was worse than the time she had mono.

Looking down at herself, Tru found she was lying on one of the folded mats they used for practicing falls, covered with a woven textile that pictured the forty-seven ronin. Experimentally, she lifted a protesting, sluggish arm to touch her forehead and found it to be tender and bandaged. She probably had a black eye.

"Better than I look, I'm sure. How'd I get here?"

Kiff emitted a humorless laugh. "That's a story I could sell the movie rights to. What do you remember?"

Tru thought hard, trying to wrench the images from her swimming brain. "I remember the crash, pulling the cops out of the water, and then I... I think I got lost."

"You almost froze to death. Meanwhile, I've been fending off cops who wanted to break down my door, AND the advances of your sleazy little brother."

"Oh, God!"

"I know. That guy's faster than he looks."

"The cops came after you?"

"Yes. And now I'm hiding out in a martial arts studio with you and three strange men. My mother would platz if she found out."

"Kiff, you could go to jail. And your job -"

"Helping people in trouble is my job. Tru, I'll admit I wasn't exactly hip to the idea when you darkened my doorstep this morning. But when you're trapped in a small room with a mysterious half-frozen girl for a couple hours, you get to thinking: Of all the things I've done in my life, this may just be the most useful. Whether I like it or not, you can't beat that."

Tru was touched, if only for the brief instant that the urgency of the situation allowed.

"It's not just that, Kiff. Helping me -"

"I know. Jack might come after me again."

"It's a real possibility. He's done it before. Jack lost with you and he's not going to care if you're an innocent bystander in this one. Look what happened to Fielding..."

Tru's throat closed on the name and she covered her eyes with one hand.

"Hey, now," said Kiff. "I didn't know it bothered you so much. You barely know the guy."

"It's my fault he's dead. He wasn't supposed to die. He's dead because I screwed with the timeline."

Kiff's eyebrows met in a confused frown.

"Fielding's not dead."

Tru blinked up at her. "He's not?"

"No! I got the page twenty minutes ago. He survived five hours of surgery. If there are no complications, he'll be fine."

"But... But that's..."

Tru inwardly clamped down on the building dizziness, breathing slowly through her nose until it passed.

"I take it from your incredible pallor that this is bad somehow?" Kiff said carefully.

"This doesn't make any sense. Why would they tell me Fielding was dead? The whole reason those cops tried to kill me was because..."

Just then the curtain that served as the office's door was swept aside and Harrison appeared in the little room, Davis at his shoulder.

"Knock-knock, Spiffy-Kiffy. I thought you could use a stretch, so how about I sit with Tru for a - Oh, God!"

With a horrified look on his face, Harrison covered his eyes and shrank against the office wall like a vampire being burnt by the sun. Kiff voiced the thought of everyone else in the room.

"The hell is wrong with you?"

"I knew it. I knew there was a reason I wasn't getting to first base. Normally I don't mind as long as I get to watch. But not with my sister, man!"

Tru sighed. "Harrison, you strange, insane idiot."

"Tru!"

Davis knelt in front of Tru and put a light hand to her forehead. She watched as a look of intense relief washed over his face.

"Your temperature's normal. That's great!"

Tru had to smile a little. Once again, here was Davis when she needed him. For a moment, she marveled at being alive. For a moment, she marveled at the people responsible, people who were willing to risk their careers, their freedom, even their safety, all for her. She was amazed. Sometimes, she was amazed they even believed her, but they did. And then it struck her: There, as a wanted fugitive with men out to kill her, she'd never felt so protected. As comforting as that was however, it didn't do much for the situation at large. Suddenly -

"What time is it?" Tru asked.

Davis checked his watch. "Uh... Nine-forty."

"What happened to the bank?"

"Nothing. Nothing happened to the bank."

Tru felt a sudden need to be anything but horizontal.

"Help me up."

"Tru -"

"Help me up! Please."

Davis gently took her shoulders and levered her upright so she was sitting against the wall next to Kiff. She breathed slowly through her nose, waiting out the ensuing dizziness.

"This doesn't make any sense," she repeated. "Why? Why would someone blow up a bank one day, but not in its rewind? Why would someone set me up to go down for armed robbery and then use grieving cops to have me killed?"

Have her killed...

"Oh my God..."

Everyone looked at Davis, who had a look of utter horror on his fuzzy face.

"Dee, sit down before you fall over, man," Harrison said.

Davis fell back onto his haunches. "It's you, Tru."

"Me?"

"The rewind day? Arresting you? Trying to kill you? Don't you see! YOU are the connection. All this was to target you."

Tru shook her head. "No, that's impossible. There's no way I'm worth all that trouble. Who would...?"

"The same guy who uses a bomb to rob a bank," Harrison supplied slowly. "The same guy who knows it's all going to be undone the next day anyway."

Tru's head pounded in time with her heart.

"Jack."

"Think about it, Tru. He's always wanted you out of the way."

"But what about that rule he has about not changing fate?" said Davis. "Tru was never supposed to die."

"Seems like in her case he'd make an exception. I mean, Luke wasn't supposed to die either, was he? But Jack got him to teach Tru a lesson. Maybe she just won one too many and he's tired of the game."

Tru was feeling more and more like she was going to pass out again. It had finally happened: Jack was finally coming directly after her. On some level, she'd always thought he might, but why now?

"All right, all right. Whether it was Jack or not, we need to decide what to do next. It's not going to be easy to clear my name, and if I know Jack, this isn't over until the day is over."

The curtain was swept aside again, and Haioshi stepped in. In one hand, he had a steaming tea mug. In his other hand was a 9-inch 1980's portable TV. Seeing Tru upright, his tiny smile appeared.

"Tru San. How good to see you with us again. I only hope the news I have won't discourage you from staying."

The little man handed Tru the tea cup and gestured for her to drink, then set the TV on the floor and turned it on. One of the Fox News bubble-heads graced the screen, his best grim-earnest look firmly in place.

"... was called in by a Detective Patterson of the city police department, who stated the suspect called him personally to make his demands. We now go live to the scene with Lori Trachtenberg. Lori?"

The image cut to a woman in a trench coat and pants suit who was standing on the corner of First and Main. In the background, fire trucks and cop cars sat with their lights flashing.

"Doug, I'm here at the First Street Bank, where the bomb threat was called in some time ago. The building has been evacuated, but there's really no telling the range the blast could have if a bomb is detonated inside. The bomb squad is here, but as yet has not been able to enter the building. Negotiators are working to reason with the suspect who is believed to be somewhere inside."

"Lori, has the suspect made any specific demands?"

"Doug, the only demand he's apparently made is to speak to a..." Lori consulted her tiny notebook. "A 'Tru Davies'. Yes, he wants to speak to Tru Davies in person by midnight tonight or he will detonate the bomb."

"Lori, did he happen to say what a davies is? And why an imitation one wouldn't do?"

"Doug, I'm guessing this is the same Tru Davies for whom there's been an all-points-bulletin in effect today. Apparently, the young woman is wanted in connection to the robbery at the Fifth Street Bank this afternoon. This is of course a problem - Since police do not know where she is, they cannot produce her for the suspect."

"Lori, what evidence do we have that there is in fact a bomb inside the building? Wasn't this the same building where a phony bomb scare was called in earlier today?"

"Doug, we actually don't have any. Police are fully aware that this may be just another elaborate hoax, and have distributed their forces throughout the city accordingly in an effort to avoid..."

Suddenly, a blast sounded and everyone in the frame ducked. Rocky debris showered from the sky.

"Lori? Lori, are you there? Lori!"

Lori reappeared in the shot, her neat hair mussed and her calm expression overrun by terror.

"Doug, there's just been an explosion! There has just been an explosion in the building behind me!"

The camera panned up to an upper corner of the building... Or rather, what had once been a corner of the building. Now it was a smoking void surrounded by red-hot broken bricks.

"Guess we know there's really explosives in there," Harrison said numbly.

Saturday 9:42 pm

Jack grinned at the frenzy on his hand-held TV screen and set down his remote-detonator. Doubt that he was genuine, would they? Hell no.

He hated to use up resources just to teach those bubble-heads a lesson, especially resources that were so troublesome to come by. Then again, he had plenty. Besides, lessons were what this was all about. Lessons that people failed to learn.

After all, it was because Tru had failed to learn her lesson all those months ago that he'd been forced to break his own rules just to maintain the order of the universe. It was because of her that he was sitting in a dark, cold basement by himself instead of out pursuing the small pleasures of life. No one had ever said being the angel of death would be easy, especially with Tru Davies around.

Tru Davies. His great and worthy opponent had turned out to be a skinny little med student. Let it never be said that a man shouldn't have a healthy respect for women. Maybe even a healthy fear of women.

Oh, well. He only had to live with the idea for another hour and 18 minutes.

Jack picked up the beer he'd been nursing for the past hour and saluted the package he'd placed next to the boiler.

"To temporarily absent friends."

Saturday 9:47 pm

The company in Haioshi's office silently watched Doug and Lori regain their composure enough to announce that no one had been injured while everyone present on the scene extended their distance from the building by about thirty feet. No one quite knew what to say, especially Tru. Nevertheless, she felt that she of all people should say something.

"Thank you, Sensei. If you don't mind, I think the farther you are from me right now, the better for you."

Haioshi gave a slight bow. "As you wish. It happens that I shall soon be late for my 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' program if I do not get home soon. But Tru San..."

"Yes, Sensei?"

"Remember where to look."

With that, he winked at her and slipped out of the office.

"Very interesting person, your karate instructor," Kiff said.

"Yeah, we're thinking of putting him on display at the Smithsonian. Now how am I going to meet Jack if I have to get past all those cops?"

"Whoa!" said Harrison. "Hold the phone here, America's Most Wanted. You're not actually thinking of going."

"I have to go."

"You can't go! This is obviously a trap."

"No," said Davis, "actually, the word 'trap' would imply that someone is employing trickery to lure you into some kind of hidden snare. This is more along the lines of inviting a Christian into the Coliseum."

"Yeah, what beard-o said."

"Guys, Jack is in there with a live bomb. You weren't there when it went off yesterday. I was. I saw what happened. So what if there's nobody inside? Everyone at that scene is directly in the path of the blast. Cops, firefighters -" She looked pointedly at Kiff. "- Paramedics."

"No way," Davis said. "He'd need about a zillion tons of explosive... Or else put a little explosive next to a big accelerant."

"You mean like a big boiler?" Tru ventured.

"Well... yes."

"Like a big building would need? A big building like the First Street Bank?"

"Yes... Oh, jeez."

Harrison cleared his throat. "You know, there is that other pesky detail that you almost died today. Again. Can you even stand up?"

"I'll have to. I'm not going to let those people die. Otherwise... What good is this stupid whatever-it-is that I have anyway? My mother was killed because she could do what I do. If she was willing to give her life for it, then I'm not going to be deterred by some sneaking, cheating, self-righteous weasel! I'm not."

The resolve in Tru's voice left everyone else quiet for a few moments. In the end, it was Harrison who spoke up.

"Mom's dead, Tru."

Tru looked at him pleadingly. "Then you of all people should understand why I have to do this."

Harrison was a long moment in replying, or even looking at her. Slowly though, he returned her gaze. And then he nodded.

"Yeah."

"How nice that we all share the same firm resolve," Kiff said. "Of course, the whole point is moot if we can't get Tru past the cops."

"Not necessarily."

Everyone looked at Davis, who was wearing a strange thoughtful look. He kind of looked like Lucille Ball did when she was about to engage in some hair-brained scheme with Mr. Mooney.

"Remember that part in 'Phantom of the Opera' when they try to trap the phantom by putting on his opera?"

"No," everyone said in unison.

"Oh... Well, they did."

"So?" asked Tru.

"So, they thought they'd catch him because he was sure to attend his own opera. They had police planted everywhere, everyone in the cast knew about it, and they even used his girlfriend as bait, even though she's not really his girlfriend, he just thinks she is -"

"So what happens?"

"Well... He puts himself in the opera."

TBC...

Thanks again, everyone. Please tell me if you liked it, drink lots of water as the weather gets hot, and I hope to see you all at the finish line.


	7. Until One Destroys the Other

AN: I'd just like to clarify that I didn't lie. I was just wrong. I sincerely thought that this would be the last chapter. However, it's already almost 3000 words long and several key things still need to happen. So yes, barring my untimely demise, there will be one more after this. Thanks for baring with me, folks.

Side-note to BregoBeauty: How'd you know?

Saturday 11:35 pm

The uniform at the rear of the established perimeter shivered and stomped his feet in the dim light of the street lamp. It had finally stopped snowing about an hour ago, but that did little to lighten his mood. Timmons had been on the force less than a year, but he was already starting to think his old boy scout troop had seen more action than he ever would. Now was quite possibly his only chance to ever respond to a proven bomb threat, and was he anywhere near it? No, he didn't even have a decent view. He was stuck being a road block in the alley, his feet frozen in the shin-deep snow and his coffee rapidly being processed by his system. The commish' was sure to pin a medal on him for this one.

Due to his brooding, he didn't hear the sound of the approaching diesel engine until it came into view. He squinted in the harsh light of the ambulance's high beams. The red and white leviathan rolled slowly through the unplowed alley, the snow crunching under its great tires until the officer held up a hand in a 'halt' gesture. He made his way around to the driver's side door. There, his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"Kiff, is that you?" he said when the window was down.

Kiff set the ambulance in park and leaned out the window. "How's it going, Timmons?"

"Slow. Real slow. Thank God for overtime or I'd have half a mind to go in there put this thing to bed myself. What are you doing here?"

"They told me to stage back here. Guess they're worried about the idiot blowing up the alley by accident."

Timmons nodded knowingly. "Yeah, that's the line they fed me too. Say, Rickles told me you went home sick."

"Nah, I just needed a few hours after Fielding, you know?"

"Oh yeah! You heard about him, right? That was good news, huh?"

"Yeah, real good."

"Hope your liver's in one piece. There's not a cop in town doesn't want to buy you a beer now." Timmons peered past Kiff to the passenger seat, where a small figure sat in shadow. "That ain't Rickles. Where's Rickles?"

"I don't know. They'd already paired him off with someone when I got back on, so they stuck me with the new girl."

"New girl, huh?" Rickles stuck his head further into the cab to get a look. The 'new girl' was thin and fair, with long dark hair pulled back in a pony tail. Her face was largely hidden by the visor of a navy ball-cap emblazoned with a caduceus and the letters E.M.S. in gold. Had the light been a little better, he may have noticed that the name embroidered on the peck of her jumpsuit was 'K. Frink' and the pant cuffs were so long on her that she'd had to tuck them into her boots. Instead, he touched the brim of his hat.

"Howya doin'!"

"Say hello, New Girl," said Kiff.

"Hello, New Girl," said the new girl.

Timmons laughed the giddy laugh of the sleep-deprived (or very easily amused) and stood back to wave them through.

"Go on, you two. Drop me a line if anything good happens."

"Ten-four."

Kiff pushed the ambulance through the check point and rolled up to a nook some distance down the alley that was more or less obscured from view by a row of dumpsters and recycling bins. Before them was a service door to the bank building. Kiff parked and cut the engine.

Tru released the breath she'd been holding and took off the cap, hissing as it slid over the gauze pad on her forehead. That had been close. Thankfully, close didn't count any more now than it had three months ago.

"Well done, Kiff. Well done. If I ever need someone to sneak me through customs, I'll know who to call." She noticed Kiff was frowning at her through the gloom. "What?"

"You look better in my spare uniform than I do. Not sure how I feel about that."

"I think you've been hanging around Harrison too much."

"I think I'm not-so-slowly going insane. Have you got everything?"

"I think so. Now as soon as I'm inside, I want you to get as far away from here as possible. And for God's sakes, return the ambulance before you get fired."

"Are you sure about this?"

Tru sighed. Kiff was getting to be worse than Davis.

"For the third time, if it's between going in there to face him or letting Jack blow up half a city block, I'm inclined to the former."

"Tru."

Tru stopped gathering herself to leave and looked up at Kiff. There was a quiet intensity in her eyes that made Tru take pause.

"Are you sure?" Kiff asked again.

Tru put a hand on Kiff's shoulder. "I'm sure. And you've been wonderful."

Tru slid out of the ambulance with a fire extinguisher in hand. At the service door, she planted herself, raised the tank, and clubbed it down on the doorknob. The knob and its lock broke and the door fell open.

Inside, the building was dark as the seventh circle of hell, its power having been cut by order of the police. Tru snapped on her maglite and shone it down the unkempt hallway to the stairwell entrance. It was like being inside a recently unsealed tomb, windowless and hung with cobwebs. This part of the building didn't need to be polished for customers. Tru supposed the super didn't plan for situations like this. The stairwell itself wasn't much better. As Tru descended, she felt more and more claustrophobic, farther and farther from the light of day.

STOP, TRU.

Tru froze. The whisper on the stale air had seemed to float across the back of her neck, but when she whirled around, no one was there. Tru's heart pounded. This had never happened before. She'd only heard her mother's warning when asleep, meditating, or unconscious. This was a plane where she was supposed to be more or less safe.

"It's not real," she whispered aloud. "It's not real."

She continued down the stairs.

STOP.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Tru's voice echoed in the stairwell and thundered in her aching head. Biting back tears, Tru clamped down on the urge to scream some more.

"Mom, please. Don't do this. Not now."

She waited, breathing slowly until her heartbeat slowed. Nothing. She kept going, now more focused than ever. If there were more whispers, she didn't hear them.

Saturday 11:46 pm

Kiff dialed the ambulance cell phone and waited for the other end to pick up.

"Hi, Ma..? Yeah... Boy, I don't know. About six months, I guess... Yeah, sorry about that... Yeah, I know... I know I should... No, no, nothing's wrong. I just... Of course I'm not pregnant..! What do you mean 'why not'..? Ma, I just wanted to... I-I love you, Ma. And... I'm sorry if I don't say that enough... Ma, you still there..? Yeah. Say, I've got to go... Yeah, I know but... Okay... Okay. And Ma? Tell Pop I'm thinking about him, huh...? No, nothing's wrong, I promise... No, I don't have a brain tumor..! Okay, talk to you soon. Bye."

Kiff hung up and sighed at the service door to the bank building, having moved the ambulance just far enough away that it could be mostly concealed by a high fence and still she could keep an eye on the building. She'd long since stopped asking herself why, when she knew she should take Tru's advice and run while she still could. Actually, every instinct she had told her to run and not stop until she got back to Minnesota. In the ambulance, she could make pretty decent time...

Movement at the service door made Kiff frown. A man was digging through the recycling bins. At first she thought it was a homeless fellow looking for supper, but he obviously wasn't homeless. He wasn't a service worker either. He was well-dressed in a charcoal suit and trench coat, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly cut and gelled. He pulled something resembling an anti-theft device for steering wheels from the bin and applied it to the service door, effectively sealing it. Then he turned and walked away.

Kiff blinked.

Meanwhile, Richard Davies stomped the snow casings off of his Italian shoes as he snuck down the alley and dialed his cell.

"Jack?"

"Richard," came the darkly cheery voice on the other end. "How nice of you to give me a final phone call. I was just thinking about you, or at least your DNA."

"The only door not guarded by SWAT is sealed. Tru's already inside."

"About flipping time. My flask is empty, my feet are asleep, and there's this nasty smell down here that I don't think I can stand for much longer."

"Jack, could you please be serious for once?"

"Oh lighten up, Dick. It's not like you haven't done this before."

"That was my wife. This is my daughter. There's a difference."

"Right, right: That whole divine animal right to protect the offspring thing. Come on. Don't tell me you didn't always know it was going to come to this."

"Just tell me you'll get it done fast."

"Oh, trust me. It'll be over in a split second. Afraid I won't be able to vouch for the aftereffects, but that'll hardly be my problem, will it."

Richard hesitated, and then said "Right... Right."

"Good. Hey, and Richard?"

"What?"

"Watch the sunrise for both of us tomorrow. Ciao."

Jack shut his flip-phone and was just checking his watch again when he heard the boiler room door behind him whine in protest as it was pushed open.

Not bothering to look back, he said "I knew you wouldn't let me down, Tru."

Tru surveyed the room from the doorframe. The only light came from a neon camping lantern on a dusty card table, where Jack sat in a folding chair with his feet propped on its surface. The boiler stood in the corner, and wedged next to it was a shadowy bundle the size of a shoebox. In the dark, the digital face of the bomb's timer glowed an alien green. It read 0010:06... 0010:05... 0010:04...

She took a deep breath.

"All right, Jack. I'm here. Now stop the countdown and we'll talk."

Jack emitted a strange, giddy laugh.

"Talk. What happens when we talk, Tru? I make snide comments, you get angry, I make more snide comments, you tell me how mad you still are about Luke. My feelings get hurt, you go to bed angry. It's getting to the point that I can lip-sync to your side of the conversation. By the way, I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Tru froze in her creeping toward the boiler and looked at the object Jack was brandishing for her to see. It looked like a remote control, with a tiny light that was blinking in time to the countdown.

"All right, just relax. If you don't want to talk, then what do you want?"

"You can start by coming over here where I can see you."

Slowly, Tru complied, coming to a stop next to the table. Jack looked her over. She examined him back. He looked tired: His eyes were bloodshot and stubble bristled over his face and neck. The weariness did nothing to dull his cocky smile.

"Changing careers, Tru? Looks good on you."

"That's what they all say. Are we going to make small talk until a bomb goes off and vaporizes us both?"

"Fine. What do you want to talk about?"

"You set me up."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Don't take it so personally. I didn't think those idiots would actually try to kill you. Just lock you away where you couldn't obstruct the natural order anymore. Cops make the perfect stooges in theory. But in practice, it's all uphill."

"The robbery at the Fifth Street bank. Fielding's shooting. Making the cops think he was dead. That was all you?"

"Of course it was me. Frankly, I'm a little hurt that it took you so long to identify the mastermind behind it all."

"Why'd you tell the police Fielding was dead?"

"Just a little extra incentive to make sure my pets were committed to your case."

"I see," said Tru, already way past incredulous. "And the reason you've lured me into a building with a live bomb is..?"

"Plan B. No matter what, it's ending tonight."

Tru shook her head. "I don't get it, Jack. All this time, and you've never come after me before. I'd assumed that was because Fate never wanted me before, and as far as I know, it still doesn't. Why now?"

Jack sighed. "Ever hear the story of Demona and Macbeth? They were cursed with immortality, impervious to the dangers of the world and locked in an eternal struggle until they destroyed each other. The more I've dealt with you Tru, the more I've gotten used to the idea that that was the only way this was ever going to end."

"You've got to be... Wait a minute. Demona and Macbeth? Wasn't that on that 'Gargoyles' cartoon?"

"Damn. I was hoping you wouldn't know that. Doesn't make it any less true anyway."

"So you did all this to get me. My God, Jack! All those people."

"You're so sensitive. All those people are fine."

"What about all those people outside right now?"

"Well... That'll be too bad. I think Fate will forgive me if it means not having to put up with your shenanigans anymore."

"I take it I don't have to explain why that's a lousy deal for both of us."

Jack sighed, and Tru knew he was fully aware of the consequences of his plan.

"Tru, did you notice any similarities between plans A and B? Either way, I get what I want: No one to interfere. You didn't really think I'd make sure other people died for the sake of preserving Fate if I wasn't willing to do it myself, did you? What kind of guy do you think I am?"

An amazed laugh escaped from Tru.

"You know Jack, that was what always drove me nuts about you. More than the fact that you've made a very hard job even harder and even more than the fact that you're committed to making sure people die young, it's this mentality that you speak for the universe. You're so arrogant that you actually think the world will stop turning without you to manipulate everyone in it."

"Isn't that what you're doing?"

"No. I'm not trying to save the world, just a handful of people who asked me to."

"Come on, Tru. Don't spoil all my planning for our final showdown. I even got drunk out of consideration for your head injury so we'd be even."

Tru checked the timer. Seven minutes.

"I'm not going to let you do this, Jack."

"Tru," Jack said, as though scolding a difficult child. "You know that even if you survive, you're still going straight to jail."

A hint of triumph lit Tru's eyes, making Jack frown. She put a hand to the shoulder mike' of Kiff's portable radio and peeled away a piece of clear tape that had kept the button depressed and the radio keyed. She spoke into it.

"Got all that, Davis?"

From the city's 911 dispatch center where he'd been admitted on credentials, Davis's voice crackled over the frequency. "Every word, Tru. So does every dispatcher in the county."

While he was still considering how to respond while still saving face, Tru lashed out a foot and kicked the remote detonator from Jack's hand. Jack shot to his feet, but his glare quickly melted into a laugh.

"Even now you're finding ways to make it hard. I've got to hand it to you, Tru. If I've lost a few for Fate, at least I had a good excuse."

From her practiced fighting stance, Tru threw a hook punch at his face. It connected but he took it well, even nodding his approval as a bruise formed on his cheek bone.

"I forgot you've been taking karate classes. Not bad for three months. I'm sure your teacher will remember you fondly."

Tru was through listening to him. She was already at a disadvantage: Aside from the effects of her head injury, she had to actually win. All Jack had to do was last.

She hit him again, twice this time. He stumbled backwards toward the boiler and flexed his jaw under the blood seeping from his nose. Tru settled into her stance, hands up and ready. She had to get past Jack to get to the bomb. Jack had to get past her to get to the detonator.

"Come on, Jack. Scared of a girl?"

"Any guy who tells you differently is a dirty liar."

Tru threw another punch at his chin. He blocked this time and followed up by shoving her hard. She relaxed her knees and rolled over backwards. When she did this maneuver in class, she was always able to end nimbly on her feet. Now however, the already precarious equilibrium in her head was off-set and the only thing that kept her from falling over once she was back on her feet was the wall that she faltered against. Jack's wicked grin swam in her vision.

"Sure you want to do this, Tru? We could be spending our last moments engaged in pleasant reminiscences rather than unarmed combat."

Tru shook her head to clear it and made a mental note to stay upright just before she flew at him. Surprised by the bonsai charge, Jack felt his nose flattened before he could react.

The fight was on. And the clock ticked.

TBC...

Again, all apologies for drawing out the conclusion. I'll try to make it worth the wait, and hope to hear from you all.

Stay cool!


	8. Stop

AN: Here it is. Good night, Irene.

Saturday 11:54 pm

Despite the frigid winter's night, Kiff felt sweat popping out on her forehead as she strained against the barring mechanism on the door. She'd tried kicking at the door, kicking at the device, battering it with the ambulance's emergency tools, pulling, pushing, and throwing a short hissy fit. She'd even tried ramming it with her shoulder, which turned out to be one of the worst ideas she'd ever had. All through it, the lock remained as impervious as a diamond to the bite of a mosquito, and Tru remained without an escape route should things go south.

When finally she gave up on trying to lever the thing upwards, she stood back to catch her breath and sent it an evil look.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

The cell phone in her jumpsuit pocket rang.

"What?" she snapped.

"Kiff! You're not going to believe how smooth it went. Jack spilled the whole thing over the radio and they couldn't have heard it better if it was in THX surround sound. Everyone down here at the dispatch center's going nuts! Granted that's mostly because they think a bomb's about to go off, but I don't think they've had entertainment like this since Bo and Hope got married."

"Harrison! Do you know how to pick a lock?"

There was a pause on the line that was just a little bit too long.

"Um... No."

"Fabulous. How's it done?"

"Kiff, why do you need to know how to pick a lock? You're not taking up cat-burglary, are you? I'm pretty sure you could pull off the outfit, but trust me when I say that bad things come of it."

"I need to know because somebody's put the club on the friggin' door and your sister's locked inside with a psycho and his bomb..! Is it just me, or does that sound like a band?"

"WHAT?" Harrison's shriek was so loud that Kiff had to jerk the phone away from her ear. "What do you mean somebody locked the door? Who? What time is it? What are you even still doing there? Aren't you supposed to be halfway to Cucamonga by now?"

"I promise I'll explain everything later. If I survive. Meanwhile, we've got about five minutes before the grisly doom of everyone on this block and your sister has no means of escape but a third story window. Now stop yelling at me and tell me how to pick this lock before I kick your skinny goyescher ass!"

Saturday 11:56 pm

Jack coughed as Tru's foot connected with his midsection. It was the end-result of a sharp combination that had gained Tru another foot and a half towards the boiler. Jack swung at her. She ducked and punched him in the kidney. Jack seized her in a bear-hug, pinning her arms and squeezing her ribs until she couldn't draw a decent breath. Tru gritted her teeth and struggled against the clamp of his arms. Jack grinned.

"I've had dreams that looked a lot like this, Tru. Granted we weren't about to die and you weren't beating the living crap out of me, but I'll take what I can get at this point."

Tru smashed her forehead into his already crooked nose and slammed her heel into his foot. He dropped her and the two stood at length for a moment, gasping for breath.

Once again, Jack was more impressed with her than he wanted to be. Less than five minutes into their fight and already he was sporting a broken nose, a split lip, a punished midsection, and an ejected tooth. Thank God he was willing to fight a woman or she probably would've destroyed him by now.

Tru meanwhile sported bruised knuckles and was fighting not to show her fatigue. Sweat was dripping into her eyes and it was getting harder to know which of the Jacks that graced her vision was the one she should strike at. Through it all, she was acutely aware that time was running out.

"Just tell me one thing, Tru," said Jack. "How could it've been worth it? All this so you could give a bunch of strangers a few more lousy minutes. Was it worth Luke? Was it worth your mother? I mean, I'm sure she was perfectly willing to buy the farm for this, but do you think she ever stopped to consider how it would affect you if she got killed? Strikes me as a little selfish."

"Don't you dare talk about my -!" Tru stopped herself before she could fall into his trap completely. Instead, she took a breath and then spoke. "Do you know what selfish is, Jack? Selfish is when you can't see beyond your own angle. Selfish is when you aren't willing to consider the fact that you may be wrong and everyone else has to pay for it."

"Like Luke did?"

That did it. Tru roared and came at him with an onslaught of punches, managing to land several good ones before Jack dropped to lash out his leg and sweep her feet. Tru landed hard on her back and Jack pounced. On his knees, he straddled her hips and encircled her throat with is hands. Tru coughed and gagged as he squeezed. She bucked and clawed at his arms to no avail.

Darkly, she realized that Jack wasn't smiling. The face hovering over her was actually rather sad. She'd seen a similar look on her mother's face when she returned home from having their family's eighteen-year-old cat put to sleep: Sad she'd had to do it, but with the self-assurance that she HAD had to do it.

"Say good night, Tru," Jack said quietly.

Her hands lost their strength. Her vision darkened and her head pounded. And then, slowly and quietly at first, the pounding turned into a voice. Not her mother's this time, but Haioshi's. At least it was mostly Haioshi's. It was also an echoing blend of Davis and Harrison and Lindsay and even Kiff.

Remember... remember... remember where to look...

Tru looked up into Jack's face. She saw Jack standing over her in the abandoned factory where she'd been held hostage. She saw Jack gazing down at Luke's body as she held him and cried. She saw Jack beside her mother's grave. She saw him circling the scene of destruction from the day before like a shark. She saw him overseeing all the suffering she'd ever encountered since she was first called, and in his eyes, she saw herself reflected as a mirror image.

'Never again,' something inside her cried out. 'Never, ever again...'

With a strange new fire burning in her belly, she let go of his arms and wormed her index finger under his pinkies. Thinking she'd meant to try peeling his hands away from her throat, Jack was quite surprised when she suddenly cranked his little fingers back toward his elbows. The hollow snap echoed in Tru's ears and Jack howled in agony, easing up the weight on her hips just enough for her to bring her knee up in a sharp strike to his groin.

Suddenly mute, Jack rolled off her. Tru dizzily got to her feet and staggered toward the boiler, pausing to scoop up the remote detonator on the way. Blinking, she peered at the face of the clock.

A minute and a half to go.

She grabbed the bomb and ran for the stairwell. She took the steps two at a time and burst out into the gloomy service foyer, where she made a bee-line for the door. When she made it to the door however, she found a rather nasty surprise.

Locked. No, that was impossible! She'd broken the lock!

"No!" she yelled aloud.

She spun and ran for the stairwell again. If she couldn't go out, she'd go up. She made it halfway up to the second floor before she felt her ankle ensnared and dropped painfully to knees and elbows, barely managing to hang onto the bomb. Looking back, she found an exhausted Jack with his belly to the stairs, having lunged to catch her foot in his broken hands. He shook his head, his face earnest.

"You'll never make it, Tru."

The fire blazed in her again and she kicked back at his head. He toppled back to the landing and lay there unmoving. Without pausing further, Tru picked up her dash up the stairs.

Thirty seconds.

Second floor. Landing. Third floor. Door. Hallway.

Fifteen seconds.

She raced to the end of the hallway and found a filing room filled with heavy shelves and cabinets. Also there was a window. Tru ran across the room and set the bomb on the sill.

Five seconds.

Scrambling, she started a mental countdown and tried to make it to the filing room door. At one second to go, she dove behind a tall free-standing shelf full of records and covered her ears.

The next thing she knew, the earth fought back.

Intense light flashed past her closed eyelids. A deafening roar bombarded her ears. The floor shook as if she were inside a snow globe. It was as if every demon in hell had burst through the crust of the earth and now ran from the crater like a stream of lava.

Tru felt herself thrown to the floor and flattened there in a cascade of books and furniture. When at last the deluge seemed to be over, she lay there for a moment, catching her breath and figuring out which way was up. Her ribs ached fiercely where something had landed on them, accompanied by dozens of new pains scattered over her like measles. Cautiously, she began pushing debris off of her head and shoulders, relieved to find that her arms still worked. Turning her head, she surveyed the damage: The window was gone, as was most of the wall that had surrounded it, leaving a smoking, jagged frame of brick, plaster and sparking wires. The hole extended to some ten paces of the floor, which was now raining bits of tile and fiberglass onto the story below. The room itself was on fire, with flames creeping quickly along the walls, boosted by the hapless files.

Tru tried to get up and found she couldn't. Dazed, she looked down at herself and found she was pinned from the hips down by the fallen bookshelf and about two hundred pounds of files. Coughing on the building smoke, she tried to push the shelf off her until her arms shook and it felt like her head would explode. She fell back against the floor, choking and strengthless. She would try again as soon as she could catch her breath. Except that she couldn't catch her breath. She just inhaled more searing smoke until her lungs began to give out, too exhausted to cough anymore.

Against her will, her darkening mind began to call out.

Help me... Somebody...

TRU.

The whisper sounded over the crackle of the flames. With the last of her reserves, she turned her head toward what used to be the window wall and watched. Nothing seemed to exist anymore except for the flames, which had taken on a strange white glow and seemed to rush toward the center of the floor, where they amassed and swirled upwards into the shape of a woman in long flowing robes. The fire-woman walked slowly toward her.

Tru stared as the flame-version of her mother knelt beside her and offered a hand. Tru lifted a shaking arm and reached out to her until their fingers barely touched...

... And suddenly they were in the snowy woods again, Tru enfolded in her mother's arms and white robes.

STOP, TRU, Elise Davies's voice whispered in her ear.

Tears slipped from Tru's eyes.

"Mom..."

With what seemed some reluctance, Elise released the embrace and cradled Tru's face in her hands.

STOP CRYING FOR ME.

Tru gasped. Elise's look was gentle, sad, proud, and very, very knowing.

IT'S ALL RIGHT, MY HEART. YOU HAVE EVERYTHING YOU NEED. YOU DON'T HAVE TO CRY FOR ME ANYMORE.

Tru's shock at what this had all turned out to be about slowly gave way to all the pain she'd felt since her mother's death. It was true. She'd never really stopped crying for her mother. She'd never let go of the guilt. She'd never forgotten what it meant to have time stolen. And now?

Now.

Tru swallowed and somehow managed to choke out a few words.

"I miss you so much, Mom."

Elise's small, adoring smile widened a little.

I KNOW, MY LOVE.

Tru closed her eyes as her mother bent and kissed her forehead. When she opened them again, she was back in the burning room, looking out at the starry winter night. It was a good ending, she mused for a few moments before a more rational part of her began to scream at her over the peaceful feeling her mother had left in her heart.

Ending? No! NO!

Gritting her teeth, she set her hands on the bookshelf and tried to push it off her again. It wouldn't budge, and the flames crept closer.

Sunday 12:01 am

Half-deaf from the explosion, Kiff cautiously looked up from her instinctive duck-and-cover to the uppermost floor of the bank building, where the Southeast corner was a flaming ruin.

Many different conclusions flooded her brain: The bomb hadn't gone off near the boiler. Tru must have moved it. Tru was still inside. The fire department didn't know anyone but the bomber was inside. The second and third floors were now on fire. The fire department would focus on fighting the fire rather than sweeping the building for survivors.

No one was coming for Tru.

Frantic, she tried to think of what to do. Should she tell someone? Was there time?

Kathleen

Kiff spun around at the whisper of her name on the wind. Nothing greeted her but the empty alley.

The wind blew again, cutting harshly through her being.

There's no time, Kathleen. Go on

Kiff looked at the service door and gasped. Harrison had just finished talking her through an attempt at picking the lock when the bomb went off. Now it lay open on the stoop. She thought fleetingly that perhaps the little man had his useful points after all.

Kiff could smell the smoke the moment she was inside. She jogged through the darkness to the stairwell and dashed toward the roof. On the second floor landing, she paused. Both this and the third floor burned. Would Tru be here, or on the next? She didn't know!

Go on, Kiff

Far be it for her to argue with a disembodied voice. Kiff climbed on. On the third floor, she emerged and ran for the Southeast corner. Opening the door, she was blasted with heat and smoke. She dropped to a crawl beneath the smoke and groped about the floor.

Books... wood... bricks... tiles... paper... cement... furniture...

"Help..."

The weak voice on her left made her jump with hope.

"Tru?"

"Yes..."

"Tru, where are you?"

"I'm here," Tru coughed. "Under the bookshelf."

"Keep talking," Kiff said, crawling toward the voice. "Are you all right?"

"I... I can't move..."

Eyes burning, Kiff continued to sweep the floor with her hands.

More paper... marble fragments... a hand... A hand!

Eyes and throat burning, Kiff followed the hand to the body it was attached to and began tearing into the pile of books covering Tru, throwing it off by the armful. When finally only the shelf remained, she put her shoulder to it and pushed.

Go on, Kathleen

"I'm trying, you disembodied doofus!"

The shelf gave, and fell to the floor with a thumb that caused more debris to rain from the ceiling. Kiff levered Tru upright, held Tru's arm across her shoulders, clamped her free arm about Tru's waist, and stood to a crouch. She half-dragged, half-carried Tru to the doorway as quickly as she could.

The flames were already in the hallway when the two got through the door. Kiff made their way down the stairs, trying not to be disconcerted by the various crashes and other noises that sounded above them as they went.

Go on, Kathleen!

The urgency in the strange whisper spurred her even faster toward the front door of the building, where they were met first by a sea of surprised emergency workers and then by a deafening roar that sent them both tumbling to the ground.

Quite confused as to what had happened, Kiff found herself face-down in the snow that covered the threshold of the building. She looked to her side and found Tru motionless some feet away. Frantic, she scrambled over to her friend and felt for a pulse, weak with relief when she found one thumping steadily in her neck. Only then did she have the presence of mind to look back at the building.

The entire third floor had collapsed in flames.

Sunday 1:02 am

Harrison dashed past the triage desk of County General's ER and had poked his head into several curtains before the nurse caught up with him.

"Sir? Sir! Excuse me, sir. You can't be back here!"

"Where is she? Where's my sister? Is she over here?" Harrison pushed back another curtain and winced. "Whoa, hey. A girl, huh? Congratulations."

He gingerly closed the curtain and was about to go on to the next one when he found the rather solid-looking nurse had planted herself in his path.

"I said you can't be back here."

"Listen, you pop-up book from hell! I just got a phone call in the middle of the night to tell me my sister was pulled out of a burning building. Nothing else except something about next of kin. I don't care if you ban my children's children's children from this stupid place. I'm about to tear it apart if you don't tell me where my -"

"Harrison?" came a weak voice from nearby.

Harrison jumped around the nurse and made for the last curtain in the row. Pulling it aside, he found Kiff seated on the edge of a bed. Her face was sooty, her eyes red. She smelled strongly of sweat and smoke. With her coveralls peeled down to her waist, she had a hospital gown draped over her upper body, revealing forearms that looked sunburned. From the way she was hunched forward, it looked like she was working to breathe.

Seeing Harrison, she nodded wearily to the triage nurse.

"It's all right, Fran. He's with me."

Scowling, Fran departed.

"Thanks, Fran. Call me," waved Harrison. Then he darted to Kiff's side. "Kiff! Are you all right? What the hell happened?"

Kiff pulled the oxygen mask from her face, drawing a dirty look from the nurse who was taking her blood pressure.

"Well," she wheezed, "she didn't defuse the bomb."

Harrison blinked. "Pardon me?"

"She got it away from the boiler, but I couldn't get the door unlocked in time. She took it to the third floor. It went off."

Harrison felt his blood freeze. He had to bully his suddenly arid mouth into expressing his next question.

"Was... Is she..?"

Kiff tried to answer and fell into a violent coughing fit. Harrison lifted the oxygen mask back onto her face and held it there until she was panting rather than choking. She dried her teary face on the hospital gown and what came out of her nose was black.

"She's here... alive," Kiff managed to say. "Not burned, but... took a lot of smoke... toxic fumes..."

"Where?" Harrison demanded.

"Can't go in... the stabe' room... They'll take care of her."

"But she'll be okay, right?"

"She's bad off, but... she's young... tough... Think she'll be okay."

Harrison finally allowed himself to exhale. Under the circumstances, it was the best endorsement he had the right to hope for.

"Are you all right?"

"Allergic to... smoke... It'll pass..."

Harrison suddenly wanted to hit her.

"Allergic to WHAT? Are you stupid or just insane? You could've died!"

"I know."

"Jesus, I'm surrounded by crazy women. It must be freaking contagious. Tru told you to get the hell away! Why didn't you listen?"

"Harrison?"

Harrison quit stomping about the curtain and looked at Kiff. That was when he realized that for all that she looked like utter hell, there was something peaceful to her that he'd never seen before. The tears she was crying weren't solely from her irritated eyes, nor were they from sadness. She was smiling a quiet, lovely smile.

"It's all right," she said. "Don't you see?"

Harrison had a feeling there was something that she was trying to say, something inexpressible, and somehow, he of all people more or less understood. Without warning, he seized her in a hug and for once, it was completely platonic. Kiff closed her eyes and let him hold her. Like it or not, there are precious few things that can make people truly connect over the course of a single day, and surviving a miniature apocalypse together is one of them.

"Sorry I wanted to kick your goyescher ass," she muttered into his shoulder.

Monday 6:39 pm

Even Davis wasn't used to sitting still for this long. He was quite sure the nogahide chair he was sitting in now had a perfect indentation of his butt, and he'd been wearing the same clothes since Saturday.

In the nearly forty-three hours he'd been camped out in this hospital, he'd read every magazine in the family room (even Girl scout Weekly), watched seventeen different World War II documentaries on the history channel, made up half a dozen songs to the beat of the heart monitor's incessant bleeping, and eaten five twixes, four snickers bars, a bag of Fritos, and three different brands of cheesy crackers. Now he just sat and watched Tru sleep.

Tru had been moved here after being stabilized in the ER. 'Here' was somewhere between the regular inpatient rooms and the ICU, where they sent people who weren't about to die, but were bad off enough to make the staff quietly worry while they dismissed Davis's concerns with a patronizing cliché. Tru meanwhile hadn't moved in almost two days. The heart monitor bleeped, three different IV's ran, oxygen flowed into her nose through a thin clear hose, and Tru slept on.

Granted Davis had always wanted to watch her sleep, but still...

"Davis?"

Davis's head shot up. Tru's face was turned toward him, her eyes squinting as if she wasn't quite sure it was him. He stood up too fast and his numb legs tumbled out from under him. Tru sleepily watched him fall.

"Dee?" Her voice came with difficulty and was low, almost a tenor.

Davis's appeared at the edge of her bed, gripping it as if he were dangling from the edge of a cliff.

"Waking up to my face has got to be getting old," he ventured.

"Where am I?"

"County General. They brought you here after the fire."

At the mention of the word 'fire', Tru closed her eyes, her brows drawn in concentration, trying to remember. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open obvious panic. She tried to sit up and failed, having to settle for groping at Davis's arm.

"The firefighters. The police. Kiff!"

Davis instinctively stilled her hand with his own.

"Take it easy, take it easy. They're all fine. Kiff inhaled some smoke. They treated her and sent her home yesterday morning. That was all."

Tru relaxed back onto the pillows and forced herself to breathe slowly.

"What happened? After the bomb?"

"Don't you want to know how you are?"

"Tell me what happened first."

Davis sighed. "The building's gone. The fire spread like... well, wildfire after the bomb went off. A-Am I allowed to compare domesticated fire to wildfire? No, doesn't really work, does it? Anyway, Harrison says that Kiff says that some strange guy barred the service door after you went inside. Harrison helped her pick the lock, and the bomb went off. Now you have -"

"A guy?" Tru interrupted.

"Yes. Now you have -"

"What guy?"

"I don't know! A guy, like a million other guys. Meanwhile, you managed to wind up with an exacerbation of your head injury, airway burns, inhaled poisons, and three broken ribs. Add to the fact that you were literally blown up and... and..."

Tru blinked. Davis actually sounded angry. He never sounded angry. And now that she thought about it, why shouldn't he be? Not for the first time, he was mentally and physically exhausted because of her. It was a lot to ask of a person what she asked of him, and yet he was always there when she needed him, asked for or not. She squeezed his hand, which he only then realized she was still holding.

"Davis?"

"What?"

"What would I do without you?"

Davis's look softened, though he tried unsuccessfully to hang onto his stern tone.

"You're lucky to be alive, you know."

Tru found that hard to believe. If it was possible, she felt worse than she had when she woke up in Haioshi's office. In addition to a splitting headache, she now had a raw throat and painful bruises scattered over her body like a leopard. She dragged a hand up to her throat, and found that the outside was painful as well. Why should that be? She hadn't been burned...

Ah, yes: Jack had choked her... Jack.

"Davis, what happened to Jack?"

"We... We don't know. I mean, they're still looking, but..."

"But no one's found a body yet," Tru concluded for him.

Davis quirked an eyebrow. He'd been avoiding the subject of Jack at this point in the conversation because he'd been afraid of upsetting her. Now that it had come up, she didn't seem the least bit surprised. In fact, she seemed rather content.

"Did I miss something?" he asked.

Tru was smiling at him. "I'm okay, Davis. Whatever happens from now on, I'll be okay. I just want you to know that."

Davis scratched his shaggy red hair.

"That's great, Tru. But aren't you worried about -"

Eyes drooping, Tru shook her head.

"The most wonderful thing happened. I saw the most... wonderful... thing..."

Her voice trailed off as she plummeted into sleep again. Davis looked at her for a few moments, sighed again, and pulled the covers up to Tru's shoulders. As he continued to watch her, an impish voice piped up in his brain, pointing out that he had no right to ever hope for this opportunity again.

He cast a quick look around to make sure nobody was watching, bent, and placed a tender, lingering kiss on Tru's face just this side of her mouth. He would remember it for the rest of his life as being as soft and sweet as the smell of lilacs after a spring rain. Tru would remember it as a dream.

Epilogue

Tru's doctors kept her in the hospital for another two days. By the third day of her stay, her voice sounded normal again, and she was allowed visitors who hadn't bullied their way in with medical credentials (It was good to be both a doctor and a county employee, Davis decided). Meredith stopped in between appointments. Lindsay brought her magazines and ding-dongs. Harrison snuck in some contraband hamburgers so she could have something to eat besides mystery jell-o. Even her father came to visit, though it had been months since they'd last been in touch. He acted happy to see her, relieved that she'd recover, but strange, distant even for him. When Davis asked her about Richard's visit afterwards, Tru shrugged and answered honestly that she felt exactly the same as she had before he arrived.

She was also visited by the chief of police who, having heard the exchange with Jack over the radio, had taken it upon himself to resolve matters in the department. Confronted with the evidence, Patterson had promptly broken down and named everyone involved in Tru's undue persecution. They were now sitting in jail awaiting trial, surrounded by people they'd put away. The chief seemed nice and genuinely apologetic, not to mention grateful that she'd saved the lives of about a hundred of his officers. Tru forgave him for the misunderstanding, but not for promoting a crazy Neanderthal like Patterson to the rank of detective in the first place. Later, she would blame that remark on pain-killers.

Kiff, who by some miracle was allowed to keep her job despite the fact that she'd 'borrowed' an ambulance without permission, gave a description of the man she'd seen locking the service door to the bank to the police sketch artist, but she just couldn't seem to get the nose right. It wound up looking, as Davis had so aptly put it, like a million other guys. The chief promised to try, but didn't offer much hope for the matter.

The First Street Bank had been reduced to an ashy ruin in less than half an hour after the bomb detonated. The remains of the building were sifted and combed by everyone from Timmons to the county commissioner. Jack's body was never found.

Not that it mattered. Despite the assurances of all of her friends that he could never have survived, Tru was quietly secure in the knowledge that he would eventually surface again. And if not him, then someone else.

But not for a while. Now was a time for other things.

Three weeks after the First Street Bank was bombed, Tru walked gingerly from the women's changing room into the training space of Haioshi's dojo, where many of the students had arrived early to warm up before class. Tru's ribs twinged angrily as she tried to stretch. With several items on her laundry list of maladies still on the mend, she knew there were limits to how much she could participate in the class. However, she'd felt oddly detached in her time away from the place and was glad to be back in any capacity.

"Hey, Tru! Over here!"

Tru brightened when she saw Harrison waving at her from the viewing area. Next to him sat Davis, looking out of sorts, but waving politely as well. She bowed off the mats and walked over to them.

"Harrison, what are you doing here? I thought you decided it wasn't for you."

"It's true," Harrison said. "You see, I've learned something in all this: I can be so secure in my masculinity that I have no qualms at all about the idea that my sister can beat me up. I mean, at least you're my BIG sister. It's your job to protect me."

"How enlightened."

"Thank you. Anyway, the Dee-man and I thought we'd just stop by, watch you in action, say hi to Hi-yoshi, and..."

"... And check up on me again?" Tru finished for him.

Harrison and Davis exchanged a sheepish look that heralded an answer ten times louder than their muttered 'Maybe'. To their surprise, Tru just smiled and shook her head. They would always look out for her. Given what probably would have happened if they weren't in the habit, she had to admit that maybe it wasn't such a bad thing.

"Just try to keep quiet during class, will you?"

Tru turned back to the mats and spotted Haioshi just coming out of his office. He smiled at her approach.

"Tru San," he said. "How are you feeling?"

Tru surprised him with a hug that was sudden but careful. He laughed a little when she released him.

"What was that for?" he asked.

Tru paused, choosing her words carefully.

"That advice you gave me turned out to be really good."

"I'm glad. I'm glad also that you've returned today; I have something for you."

He reached into the fold of his worn gi and pulled out a folded yellow belt. Bowing slightly, he offered it in the traditional two-handed manner. Tru stared.

"But... But my test isn't for another six months!"

"Tru San, if you will forgive an old man his assumption, you have passed many tests since last we spoke. Please."

Tru haltingly took the belt and bowed low. Haioshi looked immensely pleased.

"Now that you are among my intermediate students, I hoped you would be willing to help with the beginners. May I pair you with one of them for the day?"

"Sensei, of course!"

Haioshi smiled and looked past Tru toward the corner with the changing rooms, beckoning. Looking over her shoulder, Tru's jaw dropped in surprise.

Kiff approached with fast little steps, looking rather uncomfortable in her spanking white gi. Her white belt was so stiff that the ends stuck out kitty-wompus and probably could've poked someone's eye out. At Tru's shoulder, she stood, shaking her head to Haioshi's obvious amusement.

"Really wondering why I'm not back in Minnesota right now."

"Kiff, it's so good to see you! What are you doing here?"

"Haioshi - er, Sensei called me. He said I looked like I could use a better segkuri, whatever that means. I said all right. That was before he said I'd have to wear pajamas in public."

"You look fine," Haioshi approved.

"I look like a yeti."

"You look scrumptious!" Harrison cheered from the viewing area.

"Class in ten minutes," Haioshi reminded them over their dirty looks at Harrison. "Tru San, please lead Kiff San in some warm-ups."

Tru took Kiff to a relatively secluded corner of the training space and began demonstrating the warm-up exercises. Kiff followed along awkwardly.

"Wow," Kiff said. "I haven't moved that joint in years. Whoa! There was a free adjustment."

"Trust me: After your first kicking class, you'll be sore in places you never knew you had."

"Lovely. This doesn't seem fair, you know: You crashed a car and got blown up in the same day and you're hopping around like Michelle Kwan on a frozen pond. My joints sound like rice crispies."

"From what I hear, you weren't all-together unscathed either."

Kiff frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Harrison told me you're allergic to smoke. It couldn't have felt good to crawl around in a burning building."

Kiff swore under her breath. She'd avoided contact with Tru until her burns healed and her hives went away for just this reason. She'd even told Harrison to make sure Tru thought some dashing firefighter had pulled her out of the building instead. Just as Kiff was resolving to someday swipe that little weasel's shoes, Tru gave her a knowing look.

"I already knew it was you. Harrison just filled in the gaps."

"Oh."

"Thank you. For saving my life."

Kiff blushed a little and tried to hide it with a shrug.

"Once in a while it's good to have me around, I suppose." Well, as long as the cat was out of the bag anyway... "Tru, can I ask you something?"

"Sure?"

Kiff paused, as though unsure whether she should even bring up the subject.

"That thing you can do? Is it normal to... I mean, do you ever hear things? Voices?"

"Voices?"

"Yeah, voices."

"Can you be a little more specific?"

"Well, I think it was a lady's voice. It was really hard to tell."

"What did it say?"

Kiff made a frustrated noise. She'd avoided the subject for this long for just this reason.

"After the bomb went off, the building was dark and so full of smoke that I couldn't see my own hands, but I found the stairs, I found the file room, and I found you. I don't think I would have if it hadn't been for... Nah, forget it."

Tru's heart leapt into her throat. It couldn't have been... Could it?

"Did she sound kind of like me? Maybe a little more soprano?"

Kiff's face dropped into the please-get-me-out-of-this-twilight-zone-marathon look that she so often wore around Tru.

"How did you know that?"

Tru opened her mouth to respond, but Haioshi called for class to begin. As they went to line up with the other students, Tru cast a look out the window. The sky was mostly overcast, but there was a break in the clouds that allowed sunlight to fall in gold beams onto the rooftops, making the snow sparkle like the sugar on gingerbread houses. Just for a moment, the big scary city seemed as inviting and protected as a living room.

Tru fixed on the light streaming through the clouds and smiled.

"Thanks, Mom."

The End

This one's for cherrygirl. Happy graduation!

Ps - Thanks so much, everyone. Please give us one last review!


End file.
